


Quintessence of Life: Mysteries Unveiled

by Athenais_Penelope_Clemence



Series: Quintessence of Life [2]
Category: 12th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, Robin Hood (BBC 2006), Robin Hood (Traditional), Robin Hood - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Crusades, Death, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mental Anguish, Romance, Sexual Content, Swordfighting, Tragedy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:42:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 316,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athenais_Penelope_Clemence/pseuds/Athenais_Penelope_Clemence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheriff Vaisey, Guy, and others travel to the Holy Land to assassinate King Richard. The head-spinning events happen in Acre, the dark mysteries of the past are unmasked, and dramatic reconciliation is achieved. Yet, the fight is not over, and the Black Knights have a trump card up their sleeve. This is part two of the long epic (trilogy). </p><p>The main characters are Robin and Guy. Robin and Guy have canonical portrayals; they change as the plot develops.</p><p>For your info, chapter 10 is currently being re-edited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue and Checkmate

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second part of the long epic “Quintessence of Life”, a long and captivating epic about love, hatred, politics, treachery, and mysteries. This part is called “Mysteries Unveiled”. If you didn’t read the first part of the epic – “Mysteries of the Past”, I recommend that you read it at first and only then come back to this story. Otherwise you risk failing to understand many twists and events in this story. 
> 
> The part “Mysteries unveiled” begins with the events in Nottingham as Sheriff Vaisey and his accomplices depart to the Holy Land to kill King Richard and Robin Hood. Later, the head-spinning events happen in Acre, the dark mysteries of the past are unmasked, and dramatic reconciliation is achieved. Yet, the fight is not over, and the Black Knights have a trump card up their sleeve. 
> 
> The main characters are Robin and Guy. 
> 
> If you choose to read this story/novel, I think you will like it. Yet, if you are an extremely devoted fan of any pairing (Robin/Marian or Guy/Marian), then you may find it somewhat difficult to accept the fact that, in spite of marrying Guy, Marian's feelings are shown as torn between Robin and Guy, as it was on the show in the end of season 2, but then something happens and many things change. I am trying to devote enough time to every main character – Robin, Guy, Marian – and the existing relationships, whatever they are – the Guy/Marian relationship, or the Robin/Marian relationship, or the Robin/Melisende relationship.
> 
> The plot is largely focused on the political aspect of Robin Hood's cause – fighting for England and King Richard. Robin has to deal with Sheriff Vaisey and his party, who travel to Acre to kill the King of England. Shocking and dramatic regicide happens in Acre, like it took place in S2E13. Later, many events also happen in Nottingham. There is a tragedy there and a lot of angst and anguish in this part of the story. I can only say that Marian doesn’t die, but some other characters die.
> 
> Robin is portrayed as the king's man and the 's hero, but anyway more as the king's man, which is how I believe he was portrayed on the show. A lot of information is given about the sophisticated conspiracies against King Richard weaved by Prince John, Vaisey, and the Black Knights.
> 
> The love component of this story/novel includes Robin/Melisende, Robin/Marian, Guy/Marian, Guy/Meg, Will/Djaq, Prince John/Isabella, and some other relationships. The love triangle of Marian, Robin Hood, and Guy of Gisborne is analyzed in details through actions and thoughts of the characters. 
> 
> The plot is not absolutely historically accurate. Nevertheless, there are many events from history, like the end of the Third Crusade. Some historical events are changed for fictional purposes.
> 
> Please be aware that there are scenes of violence and bloodshed. There are also extremely sensitive scenes, very emotional and dramatic.
> 
> Undoubtedly, I don't own the characters and the show. I hope you will enjoy reading “Mysteries Unveiled”.

**Quintessence of Life**

**Part 2**

**Mysteries Unveiled**

**Prologue**

In the brilliant sunshine of April afternoon, Robin of Locksley was slowly making his way through the streets of Acre. He was dressed in a silk loose robe in the Arabic fashion. He covered his head with a ghutra that held in place with a thick cord. The Arab headdress completely hid his sandy-colored hair and his slightly tanned skin; only his pale blue eyes betrayed his Englishness. He looked like a rich Saracen merchant, and a silver sheathed scimitar hung on his waist, which he wore to protect himself from thieves.

Not wishing to attract attention to his famous persona in the Holy Land, Robin wasn’t accompanied by the king’s guards and even by Much. He was on a mission of vital importance to King Richard the Lionheart. He needed to hear everything discussed by the Saracen populace of Acre – from secret conversations and whispers to idle chats and rumors. He was the king’s ears and eyes in Acre.

Robin wandered around the streets of Acre for several hours, his head high, his gait proud and graceful. Observing the smallest things happening in the city, he nodded at the Muslims, but he never made a long eye contact with anyone for the sake of keeping his identity a secret. He didn’t want anyone to notice the color of his eyes – his pale blue eyes that betrayed he wasn’t a Saracen. He didn’t stop and ask for directions as he knew the plan of Acre very well and could get anywhere even at night.

In the past few weeks, Robin of Locksley, Robert de Beaumont, Carter of Stretton, and several king’s men disguised themselves in Saracen clothing and went to Acre, where they blended with crowds of the Muslims and other Crusaders. Robin, Robert, Carter, and other three men spoke excellent Arabic, understanding with ease what pedestrians talked about. It was a new way of conducting reconnaissance by stealth for the king’s men to ensure King Richard’s effective protection from the Black Knights and Vaisey’s Saracen allies.

After Robin had killed Robert de Sablé, Grand Master of the Knights Templar, it became clear that Prince John would again try to assassinate the rightful King of England. Robin and his friends expected the arrival of Sheriff Vaisey, Guy of Gisborne, and possibly other accomplices in Acre within the next several months. Security measures were significantly toughened in the camp, and the reconnaissance in disguise was introduced at Robin’s initiative. Robin and his friends desperately hoped that they would hear something that could lead them to the sheriff’s Turkish allies who, as they believed, had a hideout somewhere in Acre.

In the Genoese, Pisan, and Venetian quarters, Robin visited several markets, examining his surroundings with the utmost scrupulosity. After he had crisscrossed three merchant quarters, he headed to the harbor. He passed by the headquarters of the Hospitallers and the Knights Templar, his gaze wandering around and often lingering on the Accursed Tower, an important guideline that allowed him not to lose his bearings.

In the districts adjacent to the harbor, streets became wider, with literally every space filled with throngs of people in the colorful shops and markets. As on most afternoons before the evening prayer, large crowds were moving towards or returning from the bustling central market of Acre. The Crusaders that controlled the city settled disputes and kept peace. Wealthy merchants argued about the price of ivory, cloth, wheat, or some Arabic delicacies. Sailors, travelers, and many others wandered through the city, visiting various inns and taverns in search for a new adventure or just a good barroom brawl.

“Life seems prosperous and calm in Acre. It is so difficult to imagine that there is only death, bloodshed, and yellow sand outside the walls of the city,” Robin mused, looking around appraisingly.

The sun was so hot that it seemed as if it had descended from the heavens and climbed on Robin’s head. There was no breeze, the hot air was suffocating, and Robin’s skin was damp with sweat. In the sweltering heat, Robin became more impatient, cursing the heat in his mind over and over again.

Several weeks passed since they had started the new reconnaissance, but so far they failed to find any trace of Vaisey’s Muslim allies in Acre yet. Nobody of the king’s men heard anything about the planned regicide attempt or any mention of Vaisey. Richard’s spies in the Angevin Empire didn’t ferret out any new information about the plans of the Black Knights to assassinate the king or usurp power in any other way. It was the lull before the storm, and, obviously, something was going to happen.

“I begin to think that this reconnaissance will give us nothing,” Robin thought. He crossed the street and then stalked towards a nearby narrow alley. “But Vaisey will come to Acre and will try to kill King Richard.”

Today, while strolling in the city and its suburbs, Robin heard many people discussing the Third Crusade and the chances of making peace with Saladin. Many Christians spoke about Robin of Locksley, captain of the king’s private guard and the man whom they called a peace-maker in the Holy Land. Merchants hoped that peace with Saladin would lead to a decrease in taxes and an increase of turnover in the port of Acre. Everyone wanted the Crusade over – they wanted peace or at least a long break before an outbreak of a new war. He overheard only two weaponsmiths talking about the Crusade with enthusiasm.

The sun was just reaching the horizon, painting the landscape in shades of orange and amber. Many shops were closing, and the streets were being gradually deserted as the Saracens were hurrying to mosques for evening prayer. Robin didn’t follow suit and continued his way down the street adjacent to the harbor. Only a few Crusaders patrolled the streets, but Robin knew that many Christian soldiers would overcrowd the neighborhood in several hours, going to local brothels to taste exotic sin.

Robin continued the reconnaissance; his mind was concentrated on every sound and movement, and he plotted each step and considered each gesture. The loud laughter of the night guard patrolling the streets rang in the air, and the sounds of evening prayer were booming out across the city.

Robin caught his breath in surprise as he spotted two shadowy figures on a nearby street. Those two Saracens apparently didn’t want to be noticed. Pressing himself against the walls of buildings, Robin followed the two men, who were skulking in and out of alleyways, lanes, and streets like criminals on the run. The sun had long set behind the sandy hills, and the shades of night hung over the Acre. The two Saracens were heading to the suburbs of Acre, which unnerved Robin, his heart hammering harder in anxiety.

At first, he thought that the two men were waiting for some unwary travelers to rob them. But the longer he followed them, the more suspicious they seemed to him. The Saracens stopped near a tavern, exchanged a couple of words in the local language, and entered. Robin hid behind the corner of a building and waited. Fortunately, the men walked out in a few moments and marched down the street;

Robin was pursuing the Saracens like a shadow as he lurked between houses and rare palm trees. His apprehension magnified as they moved further from the center of the city, towards the suburbs of Acre. They were not alone on the road: silhouettes of Crusaders were visible all around under a dim streetlight. Robin continued following the two men who had no idea that they were being tracked down; the years of service in the king’s private guard equipped the young captain with a great experience to stay undetected.

The Saracens paused at a crossroads, and Robin stopped, hiding in the alcove of a wall. He stood, not daring to move, fearing to draw his breath, and watched the Saracens. To his left, a light of the lanterns placed around the entrance to a nearby building made it possible to see the outlines of the Citadel of Acre and the Accursed Tower; Robin knew the location, and this knowledge calmed him down.

“Nasir, have you heard anything from our Christian friend?” one of the Saracens asked quietly in Arabic. “I mean something about Sheriff Vaisey or Guy of Gisborne.”

“Karim, I haven’t heard anything interesting. We should wait,” Nasir replied, also in Arabic.

Robin swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to eavesdrop. The reconnaissance finally gave the result: it seemed that he had discovered Vaisey’s Muslim allies. He frowned, wondering who their Christian friend was. Heavens! Did they have a spy in the Crusaders’ camp?

All of a sudden, Robin felt someone tug at his sleeve, and he turned to see Robert’s pale green eyes. Then his gaze met Carter’s blue eyes. Robin nodded and sighed with relief that he wasn’t alone there.

“What are we going to do? Are we going to kill Melek-Ric before he makes peace with Saladin?” Karim inquired, his voice edged with notes of anxiety and irritation. “If Robin of Locksley allied the barbaric king with the Hashashin, then they are likely to begin the negotiations with Saladin very soon.” 

Nasir enunciated, “We must get rid of Melek-Ric before he makes peace with Saladin.”

“We failed to kill the barbarian king many times over,” Karim complained in a voice laced with anger. “We can kill the king on the day of Captain Locksley’s wedding. People will crowd the streets; we will be able to blend with the crowd and kill Melek-Ric.”

“No, no, no,” Nasir contradicted with determination. “There will be too many people there. Security measures will be toughened, and we won’t be able to approach the wedding party.”

“But we must kill Melek-Ric! He must pay for the crimes he committed in our land!”

“Karim, don’t be so irrational and hot-headed. We cannot act right now,” a categorical answer followed. “I also want Melek-Ric dead, but we cannot do anything without Lord Vaisey. We should wait.”

“When will this man come to Acre, Nasir?”

“Today I had a meeting with our spy in the Crusaders’ camp,” Nasir informed. “He told me that the sheriff should arrive in the Holy Land soon. Maybe he is already on the way to Acre.”

An enraged Robin clenched his fists as anger gripped him like a steel fist. A wave of fury was so strong that it made his heart beat like a frantic drum. He exhaled, feeling simultaneously agitated, disappointed, and frightened. But despite the emotions coursing through him, his face remained expressionless. His initial guess was right that the Christian friend of these two men was a wretched spy among the king’s men, but it was extremely difficult to uncover the villain. Robin held out little hope to uncover the traitor, unless the man committed a mistake by chance, giving the Crusaders a chance to succeed in finding him.

“It would be great if our spy learned something else. We have lost so much time while our enemies have been destroying our country,” Karim snarled, his voice so guttural, he sounded more animal than man.

“He does everything he can. He has to be very cautious.”

“I just hope that we won’t lose our last spy in the king’s camp.”

“He ordered us to wait and not to act without the sheriff,” Nasir said strictly. “He said that Vaisey is a resourceful and cunning man. He swore that the sheriff would be able to outwit the king’s guards, especially Robin of Locksley and Robert de Beaumont.”

“So we will wait for the sheriff’s arrival and then will kill the king,” Karim deduced.

“Yes,” Nasir confirmed. “Now let’s go. Hurry up.”

Robin, Carter, and Robert wanted to follow the two conspirators. Unfortunately, they were discovered by two patrolling Crusaders who began to stalk towards them. They ambushed the Crusaders and escaped. They ran as fast as their legs could carry them, heading to the harbor and then to the Genoese quarter, where they had a secret place to remove their disguise and change their clothes.

By the time they reached the Genoese quarter, darkness shrouded the city like a black veil. Although there was no access to the sea from the Genoese quarter, unlike from the Venetian and the Pisan quarters which had been built by merchants near the port, a slight breeze still sprang up there and swept the sand from the ground into whimsical patterns around the running men. Everything went deathly quiet as they finally stopped near a one-storied building and tried to steady their breathing.

Robin stared at the flickering lights at one of the windows. A frown creased his forehead as he glanced between Robert and Carter. “It is a great pity that we missed them. If those Crusaders weren’t so interested in us, we could have followed Vaisey’s allies and discover their nest.” His voice sounded tired and frustrated.

“There was no way we could do that,” Robert soothed, although he had also been frustrated.

Carter sighed. “We couldn’t have allowed our fellow men to learn that the king’s highly favored generals had disguised themselves as local populace. That would have been the end of our reconnaissance!”

A thoughtful Robin looked up. The bright stars came out, glimmering like dewdrops against the velvet expanse of the sky. Today the vault of the night canvas was indigo with a hint of blue, and for a moment, Robin imagined that he was no in Acre but back in England. He had seen the sky of this color many times in Nottingham and in his beloved Sherwood. Memories suffused him, ones he had tried to banish from his mind, yet they were stored there permanently. Marian… He couldn’t stop thinking of her even when he was betrothed to Melisende. Searing pain cleaved into his chest like a sword – the pain of loss and separation.

There was no better way to vanquish his emotions than to think of their mission. Robin tilted his head slightly and growled, “At least we know their names – Karim and Nasir.”

Robert laughed painfully. “Do you know how many people with these names live in Acre?”

Robin turned his gaze to his friend. “At least we have learned something new about Vaisey’s allies. And we also know that we have a traitor among us.”

Carter frowned. “It was naïve to hope that we uncovered all the traitors in the recent massacre.”

“It appears that we were mistaken,” Robert concluded.

“We will have to do something. I will think of something,” Robin proclaimed.

Robert swept his eyes over the central square in the Genoese quarter. “We should go.”

“Yes. The king will be worried,” Robin noted, a grim smile curving his lips.

Robert grinned. “Our liege misses us.”

“The king always misses us,” Carter said with satisfaction. “But this time, we have bad news for him.”

The moon disappeared behind a cloud, and, in the inky darkness, Robin felt disenchanted and depleted. Every time a feeling of loneliness took possession of him, his mind conjured pictures of Marian and himself, and the dull ache of loss and betrayal centered in his chest. He was relieved that the darkness hid his fears and insecurities. As his mind focused on the latest events, a sickening feeling settled in his stomach, and a sense of terror was beginning to well up in him. They had a traitor in the king’s entourage!

By the time when they returned to the Crusaders’ camp, it was already past midnight. They were dressed in Crusader garb after changing their clothes in the Genoese quarter. But despite the late hour, they didn’t plan to sleep, for they had to share the urgent news about Vaisey and the planned regicide attempt with their liege. The night was young, and they had many hours ahead to invent a new plan of action.

§§§

The April night was chilly and very clear. The sky was dark, sparkling with starlight, and the moon was a crisp, silvery crescent, painting the landscape with a dull silver. A dreary silence reigned in Nottingham. It was a deathlike stillness, like a silence of the tomb, for there was no twittering of birds, no humming insects, no footsteps in the corridors of the castle, and no people scurrying in the streets. At night, Nottingham resembled more closely resembled a ghost town than any kind of town.

The night wasn’t peaceful for Guy of Gisborne who was gripped by powerful nightmares. This time, even Marian’s presence in their bed didn’t smooth his fears and anxiety. In his dreams, Guy could see his own body burning in hellfire, the red and orange flames licking him everywhere. He tried to run away from the inferno, but there was no escape, and he felt as if he were burning for all the heinous crimes he committed in his quest for power. He felt a great pain lance through his body, moaning quietly.

Guy groaned in his sleep and rolled over on his back. Dread filled his entire being as Guy was trying to find the way out, but someone grabbed his shoulders and held him tight. Now, there were two people stuck in that inferno, and the second man prevented Guy from seizing his last chance for salvation. The tormentor removed his hood, and now Guy had to face Sheriff Vaisey, his master and the man who had brutalized him and had taught him to kill. His body shuddered as his sleepy mind envisioned a sneering Vaisey. When the sheriff wrapped his arms around his henchman’s waist, the dream became more than Guy could bear.

Guy opened his eyes and pulled himself into a sitting position. He looked at the other side of the bed, where Marian slept peacefully, feeling relieved that he didn’t wake her up. As they had left one candle burning in the candelabrum, he could see her face that looked so peaceful that a large, sincere smile illuminated his features at the thought that she was his wife. His mind wafted to the subject of Robin’s obvious pain after his marriage to Marian, and his heart threatened to burst from his chest as he envisaged a brokenhearted Robin – the face of his most vicious enemy shadowed by grief instead of being graced by a flamboyant grin. Yet, he wasn’t blissfully happy in his marriage, and that weighed down on him like chains.

At dawn, he rose from the bed and dressed himself in black leather jacket and pants. He was disgusted to wear black leather which he associated with Vaisey and with the past which he craved to forget. He didn’t want to wear black leather every day, but he had no choice and had to comply with the sheriff’s orders.

In the stables, Guy mounted his horse and rode away from the Castle of Nottingham, basking in the first rays of the rising sun. After his recent nightmare, Guy felt a strange desire to go to a church and talk to a priest. He decided not to go to the chapel in the castle, for he suspected that the priest had been bought by the sheriff. He chose to go to the old church in the suburbs of Nottingham; it was located close to the former Gisborne lands, and his mother had often taken him to masses there. He never visited it since his return to Nottingham because he hankered to escape from his childhood memories, both good and bad.

Guy dismounted and tied his horse to a nearby tree. He stopped near the heavy oak door and opened it with trembling hands. As he stepped into the candlelight beneath the lofty arched portal, his gaze fell on a black wooden cross of Jesus Christ that hung on the farthest wall. A wave of nervousness overcame him, the blood drained from his cheeks, and Guy suddenly looked like a dead man who rose from a grave.

As he stopped in the middle of the chamber, the old priest looked at him with interest, for he came to the church earlier than the time of morning mass. Frightened and confused, Guy watched the priest stalk towards him. As he felt the priest’s hand on his shoulder, reality claimed him back from his slumber. The priest said something, and Guy responded Amen without thought. He recollected himself when the priest offered him to make a confession, and he nodded wordlessly in response.

Guy felt anger boiling in his veins: he was angry with himself that he, Guy of Gisborne, suddenly came to the church and was in the need of confession. He fought to conquer his emotions, but he still felt the last vestiges of anger clawing at his insides, twisting his gut, tightening his muscles. With effort, he calmed down and braced himself mentally. He eyed the priest and noticed that the man was very old; he wondered how such an old man was not dead yet and was still capable of serving in a church.

The priest scrutinized Guy. “Sir Guy of Gisborne, I feel that your soul is burdened by the weight of your sins. Did you come here to beg God’s pardon for your crimes?”

Guy looked intently at him; his hands clenched into fists. “I… don’t know why I came.”

The old man smiled kindly. “Don’t be scared of the Lord, my son. I know that you are not a demon.” He looked at Gisborne until Guy’s heart started to pound and his stomach felt squirmy. “I know that your soul is burdened. It should be burdened because you are on the wrong path.”

Guy gave a sad smile. “I had… a horrible dream… about hellfire.” He lowered his head. “Do you hate me, like everyone in Nottingham does because I serve Vaisey?”

“My son, I knew your father, Sir Roger of Gisborne,” the priest spoke calmly, the corners of his lips quirking in a small smile. “I remember you and your sister in childhood. Why should I hate you?”

An amazed Guy stared at the old man in shock. He was so shocked that he staggered slightly, but he kept his feet. He passed his hand across his eyes, looked at the priest again, and muttered something under his breath. His mind meandered over the days of the distant past, and the familiar image of the young priest’s face who had served in this church in the times of Guy’s boyhood flashed in his mind. He remembered the man in front of him – he was Father Alden, his mother’s confessor.

“I remember you, too,” Guy choked out.

Father Alden smiled heartily. “Are you here to confess your sins?”

Guy was at a loss for words. He was so frightened, and his mind was afire. A little shudder ran through his large frame, and a cold shiver was creeping through his veins. He was searching for the right answer, but his mind was like a butterfly in a fog, flitting and looping round to places where he didn't want it to rest. Looking at the priest’s welcoming face and an inviting gesture, Guy felt dread clawing at his insides. Ignoring the growing desire to talk to the man who knew him since childhood, he took several steps back.

The priest realized that his guest felt uncomfortable; he felt sorry for Guy and pleased that there was something good in Guy’s heart, but he couldn’t help him if Guy didn’t intend to open his heart to God.

Guy shook his head. “I beg your pardon, but I am not ready to make a confession,” he replied in a shaking voice. “God have mercy on my soul, but I cannot do this.”

“I see.” The priest looked disappointed.

“How can you know for sure that there is really the devil?”

“We know there is the devil because of God's word, but the devil cannot perpetrate his evil works if we don’t allow him to exhort us to evil deeds,” the priest said, his voice stressing every word.

“I know.” Guy’s voice was low, nearly a whisper.

“My son, I know that you don’t worship the devil.”

Guy nearly rolled his eyes in exasperation. He disliked preaching and had little patience to listen to the priest’s sermon. However, he didn’t want to be mean and responded in a calm and polite voice, “No, I don’t, but I haven’t prayed for so long, since childhood.” He trailed off, and he sighed as his mind drifted back to his nightmare. “And do you think that… anyone can… atone for his sins?”

Father Alden breathed a sigh of relief, and a faint smile lit his face. At least Guy was willing to listen to him. “We should not assume a person needs deliverance from the devil, but if you sinned, then you must understand that you need to repent and find the right path in life.” He smiled kindly. “Your heart craves for redemption, but you cannot get it if you don’t want to repent of your sins and change yourself.”

“What can you do for people who are not willing to repent, or for those who don’t have enough strength to do that?” Guy’s sensations were singularly acute. Anguish and confusion claimed him entirely. In a few moments, gratitude and hope flooded him; something sweet and beautiful rioted in his blood. He felt the touch of something divine, and he would have fallen prostrate before the priest with his face to the stone floor if the terrifying numbness didn’t overcome his whole body.

 “A priest can bind the devil temporarily by praying for your soul, my son. But, eventually, you must open your heart and soul to God's will.”

“I understand.” Guy’s chest heaved with emotions, and he no longer could stay in the church. He swung around, intending to leave.

“Wait, my son,” the priest called, almost appealing to the younger man.

Guy stopped, turning to the other man. “What can I do for you?”

The priest was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was low and deep. “I was a young man when I started serving in this church, and your father once came to me after his miraculous return from the Holy Land,” he announced in a steady voice. “I cannot break the seal of confession, but I want to tell you something that will puzzle you and can make you… feel uneasy.”

“What?” Guy’s voice was a husky growl.

Father Alden sighed, thinking whether he should continue; boldness prevailed. “Sir Roger of Gisborne appeared in this church and confessed his sins several days before the fire at Gisborne Manor.” He paused, collecting his thoughts, carefully piecing together the words he could use so Guy might understand and believe him. “Years ago, your father did something very bad to Malcolm of Locksley and Robin of Locksley.”

“I don’t want to hear anything about these people,” Guy hissed. Then he started walking to the exit.

“Wait!” the priest cried out in a loud voice. “Your father wronged Sir Malcolm and young Sir Robin. I doubt that he repented of his wrongdoings before his death. He never permitted God to be the lord of his life.” He sighed. “After Sir Roger’s death, I earnestly petitioned to God and prayed for him to be forgiven.”

“No,” Guy breathed. He stood rooted, but he didn’t turn to the churchman.

“Yes,” the priest articulated slowly, as if with great strain. “Everyone in Nottingham could see that you hate Robin of Locksley, but I am sure that I am one of the very few people who understand the roots of your hatred. And I know much more than others do.”

Guy huffed in rising anger. Then he swung around and froze, staring at the priest with an intensive gaze.  “You cannot break the seal of confession. The dead cannot rise to a new life. And I highly doubt that my honest father somehow wronged Malcolm of Locksley and his spoiled son.”

“You are mistaken, my son,” the priest assured him. “Your father wasn’t a saint.”

“But you can tell me nothing,” Guy whispered.

“Your father told me what he had done, and I know the truth. You have no reason to hate Robin of Locksley; he is not responsible for your troubles and unhappiness.”

 “Then who is at fault?”

Father Alden’s expression changed into distress before turning blank. “Many people were guilty; your father was one of them.” He emitted a heavy sigh. “I have heard rumors that you tried to assassinate King Richard in the Holy Land. Robin Hood told someone that you had attempted regicide, and gossip circulated in Nottingham. But Sir Robin stopped you before you could kill the king.”

“I am not intending to listen to rumors,” Guy grumbled, his voice sounding peculiarly tight.

The priest weighted his words evenly. There was a kind of urgent desperation in his voice as he began his speech. “There are things you must know before it is too late.  You would have committed a sacrilegious act and the gravest crime if you had murdered King Richard. You would have never atoned if you succeeded in killing the lord of the English realm, and not only because he is the King of England.”

Guy scoffed. “The king possesses a divine power, right? His life is sacred.”

The priest shook his head disapprovingly. “You cannot murder King Richard.” His voice deepened. “And you cannot take Robin Hood’s life either because it would be a heinous crime.” He raised his voice. “You cannot kill either of them. Otherwise, you risk losing a chance for redemption.”

Guy was nervously biting his lip. “Why should I let them live?”

“Just remember my words, my son.”

“What did my father tell you, of course, if you are not lying to me?”

“I am a man of God, and it is a sin to lie,” the priest declared glumly, feeling offended by Guy’s words. His gaze became ever-penetrating, and somehow that was more awful for Guy than his steady, funeral voice that spoke the unknown truths. “You have no reason to hate Sir Robin.” He crossed himself. “I said more than I could. May God forgive me for telling you some really unsettling and confusing things, but I cannot reveal anything else to you – I can only warn you.”

“Thank you for confusing me,” a frustrated Guy barked.

“Guy, don’t raise your sword against King Richard and Robin Hood – remember my words,” the priest reiterated, his voice several octaves higher than a few moments ago and quivering with emotion. “And if it is God’s will, then one day you will learn the truth.”

“Thank you.” Guy frowned at the old man, his gaze narrowing.

The priest crossed himself. “Peace be with you, my son. I will pray for your soul.”

Guy stormed out of the church like a hastily retreating and beaten enemy. Dawn broke over Sherwood Forest in the distance, its tender rays caressing his face. He rubbed his face and tried to think about the day ahead of him; yet, thoughts of Vaisey and his work in the castle made him feel nauseated. He shook his head in an effort to shake off the old memories that stirred in his mind after the conversation with the priest.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and expelled a deep sigh. His meeting with Father Alden was worse than the most dreadful nightmare. The priest brought something strange to his attention, but he didn’t say anything else. Only one thought was shining clear in his clouded mind – the priest knew something about Roger of Gisborne. He was interested in his father’s confession, but he didn’t want to believe that Roger had sinned against Malcolm and Robin, the two people whom he hated for so long.

Guy hopped into the saddle and set his horse in motion. He had to get away from the priest who awoke many unpleasant memories in him; memories of the tragedy and pain not too many people ever faced. He didn’t want to believe Father Alden, but his gut feeling told him that the old man’s words were extremely important, as if they could unlock the mystery of the most closely guarded secret in the world.

 

**Chapter 1**

**Checkmate**

To court his bride for decency's sake and for entertainment, Robin of Locksley invited Lady Melisende Plantagenet on the ride along the seacoast. Surrounded by ten guards, Robin and Melisende guided their white stallions through the yellow sandy dunes, moving in the direction of the shore.

A squad of the king's guards was escorting Melisende and Robin on their ride. Neither Melisende nor Robin liked the idea of being accompanied and watched by so many guards, but they could do nothing because King Richard wanted them to be always protected. Robin would have never risked making the king angry, especially by foolishly exposing the king's cousin to various dangers and threats in the Holy Land.

Robin immensely enjoyed their ride. It was the time of the day when the blazing orange sun was just sinking below the dark line of the horizon. He loved this melancholic hour when the sun departed from one world to another and the daytime noises died away one by one. The water in the sea became smooth as glass, and the sky put on fabulous, warm colors of orange and red. It was always a particularly melancholic and precious time for Robin, but tonight there was something unusual, almost enchanting about it, something out of the ordinary; maybe it was so because he was not alone on his ride tonight, he mused.

A contented Robin looked at Melisende, and a smile lit up his face; she was beautiful, in her orange gown with a low neckline and airy sleeves, which perfectly matched her long, copper-colored hair. The last rays of sunset were gleaming on the surface of the water. Melisende's red-gold hair shone like sunset clouds, and the rays of the sinking sun sparkled on the golden embroidery of her orange gown.

"I am glad that you took the life of Robert de Sablé," Melisende said sincerely, looking at him as they rode next to one another. "He deserved to die for his crimes exactly in the way you killed him."

Robin was amazed. "You approve that I beheaded him in a fit of anger?"

She smiled and nodded at him. "I do support what you did."

He waggled a brow. "Really?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "Grand Master de Sablé was a despicable traitor who tried to kill Richard and you! He deserved a brutal, cruel death!" Her smile lost none of its warmth at her last words; she wasn't terrified of his actions and didn't accuse him of being cruel and bloodthirsty – instead she understood him. "Thanks be to God that you were unscratched in the fight with that traitor."

Robin's face split in a mischievous grin. "You are concerned about my fate, Melisende?"

"I don't wish my betrothed to be killed by a foul traitor."

"I think you are lying now. You are scared to lose me," he stated straightforwardly.

She quibbled, "Fear of death is one thing. Politics and political unions are different things."

"What exactly do you want to say?"

Melisende looked into the distance, considering what to reply. She looked to the right, her eyes taking in the sandy dunes that were shining in the rays of the setting sun. "Our marriage is a gift of loyalty to Richard, from our hearts, and I am conscious of how worthy it is. I hope our union will bring peace to my county and relief to Richard, for our marriage will ensure the loyalty of many nobles to him."

Robin's laugh held real amusement. "I begin to think that it will be good to ask our beloved king to do something with you! You are a great liar if you want to lie!"

She glanced back at him and scoffed. "You think I am lying?"

"Of course," he spelled out slowly. "I know that you are concerned about my fate."

"Perhaps." She smiled enigmatically.

"Not perhaps – for sure," Robin said insistently.

Melisende smiled at Robin enticingly. "Why are you marrying me?" She looked at her right hand, her eyes taking in the gorgeous diamond three-stone framed ring set with a round diamond center stone and bezel-set side stones surrounded with five small amethysts. She loved her engagement ring which Robin had given her when he had proposed to her about three months ago.

Despite his doubts about his marriage to Melisende, Robin suddenly felt that his life became simple. He had already said farewell to his old life when he had proposed to Melisende. The old world was filled with memories about Marian's betrayal and his shattered dreams, and it could offer him nothing but a narrow, limited existence and an endless, unbearable pain. An unearthly lightness suffused his heart, and he found himself overwhelmed with the sense of release that often comes when a difficult decision is made. Robin wondered whether it was an ephemeral feeling, and the thought blazed upon him, luminous and terrifying, like a flash of lightning in a serene sky – he didn't want to lose that lightness and calm.

Robin raised a quizzical eyebrow. "And why should I not want to marry you?"

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, as if she wanted to say something but decided against that. Then she shook her head. "Oh, I see. _Out of loyalty to Richard_."

Robin frowned slightly. "I am surprised that you think so. You have many great qualities that make you a valuable match for everyone. You are a dream bride."

She broke into a sarcastic tirade, although she knew that he wouldn't like it. "Ah, I have forgotten some important things! What a fool I am!" she exclaimed. "I am King Richard's cousin and a Plantagenet by birth. And my husband will become Count de Bordeaux through his marriage to me; he will also receive many lands and manors," she said sarcastically. She knew that it was not in Robin's character to do something for his own advantage, but she liked challenging him and teasing him.

"I thought that you know: Robin Hood doesn't need money and titles for happiness."

"Oh, indeed. I am sorry."

He arched a brow. "You don't cease amusing me, Lady Melisende."

"I am glad to hear that."

Robin eyed her sternly. "If you don't want to marry me, then tell me about that."

"Do all people marry whom they like?" She chuckled. "I am the king's cousin, and I cannot decide on my marriage. Everything personal always comes hand-in-hand with political in my life."

Gazing into the distance, Robin watched twittering seabirds flying over the blue water tinged with orange and red, enjoying the picture of the fragile peace. "King Richard loves you. He will never force you to marry an unworthy man or a man whom you detest and dislike, even if he needs this marriage for England."

"You are wrong. You idealize Richard," Melisende objected. "Richard is my cousin and he loves me, but he is the King of England in the first place. He will make me marry anyone if it suits England's interests and him. My personal interests and wishes go behind Richard's political needs."

"Lady Melisende, our king loves you very much, like he loves Princess Joan."

Melisende looked away. For all the beauty of the evening, her heart felt heavy, lonely, and sad. She never objected marrying Robin, but she believed that he had never wanted their marriage. "Anyway, Richard wants me to marry you, Huntingdon. He made it pretty clear to me several months ago. I don't want to disappoint him, and I will obey Richard, my cousin and my sovereign."

"You will obey? Is it the only reason why you agreed to marry me?"

"We don't want to disappoint the king because you and I love him a lot."

"I love King Richard as my king and friend, but my deep affection for him will not prevent me from breaking our betrothal if you are forced into matrimony with me."

She shook her head. "I assure you that I am being not forced."

Robin tightened the reins and rode to Melisende. As he reached her, she stopped her horse and looked at him with amusement. "My lady, if you don't want to marry me, tell Richard about it. He will listen to you, and if he doesn't want to listen, I will make him listen."

Melisende pondered over her response and decided to be truthful. "I thought that my cousin would order me to marry the Earl of Leicester, but I don't mind being married to you, Huntingdon."

"Heavens!" Robin exclaimed, as if speaking to himself in a fit of intense grief. "Finally, I know the truth about your secret desires. If you want to be Leicester's wife, I will help you."

She felt hear rise to her cheeks. "No, I don't want to marry the Earl of Leicester. I pray you, milord, won't say anything else on the matter. Richard wants us to marry, I consented, and you don't object."

Robin smiled with his most charming smile. "As you wish." He nodded slightly, his finger tracing, almost tenderly, the reins. "But I want you to know that I wouldn't have married you for all the riches of the world and even out of my loyalty to my liege if I myself hadn't wanted that."

"Really?" she inquired, instinctively keeping her voice low.

"Yes," he replied briskly.

"That's an unexpected statement. I am amazed, my dear Earl of Huntingdon."

He dimpled and then revealed a full smile. "You should not be, my precious Countess de Bordeaux."

Robin urged his horse forward, and Melisende followed suit. The guards were not far from them, clustered around the betrothed couple – their captain and the king's cousin. They continued riding along the coastline, looking at a chain of islands colored light orange and amethyst in the rays of the sinking sun.

"You don't have to court me, Lord Huntingdon," Melisende remarked coolly, with a touch of sneer.

Robin smiled a little sadly. "I thought that we agreed that you would call me Robin. Or do you dislike my name so much that you cannot even pronounce it?"

"Yes, we agreed." She smiled. "And I like your name."

"Then why aren't you doing that?"

"To tease you, Robin."

He chuckled. "Ah, I see, I see."

She spurred on her horse and began to descend a sandy hill. "Huntingdon, don't pretend that you want to marry me and are willingly courting me. You are doing this because it would be better for your reputation."

"Our reputation, my lady," Robin pointed out, his tone formal.

Melisende began to laugh. "Well, if you are courting me with such pleasure, Lord Huntingdon, then carry me off to the ends of the world." She burst into laughing. "We will love one another till our dying day. I will give you sons as brave and impudent as you; I will give you daughters as witty and beautiful as me. I will love you so much! Marry me tomorrow, if not right now, and let's run away from Acre!"

He grinned wickedly at her. "Yeah, you want to mock me and what I am doing, but your eyes don't cease to speak a language different from the language of your lips."

She laughed aloud, her melodic laughter, with French notes, ringing in the hot air. He was secretly pleased that she had some affection for him. Their marriage was an arranged union, but at least they were not disgusted with the mere sight of each other; on the contrary, they were attracted to one another.

"I am saying absurd things, right? Such madness! Pure madness! Maybe it is the sun that made me lose my sanity?" She looked away, at the sea.

Robin's eyes twinkled in mischief. He knew that she was embarrassed, but she managed to mask her true feelings so well. Their unforgettable encounters, with their official pomposity in public and their bickering and teasing in privacy entertained Robin very much.

"If I asked you to give me proof of some affection you have for me, would you tell me the truth?"

"Oh, no! I cannot possess affection for a braggart like you!" she cried out with feigned offence. "Pray keep yourself hoping for my affection, milord, but be aware that my heart is too small to accommodate any feeling for a man like you – a great hero with a big ego."

The sky deepened to mauve, and Robin watched boats move sedately out the harbor of Acre towards the open sea, like a stately procession crowned with a snatch of song borne on the freshening breeze.

Robin laughed breezily. "God help any man who falls in love with you, Lady Melisende. He would have to deal with a beautiful woman with a soul of a lioness," he retorted.

"Oh! I have nothing to wish for in the world. I am satisfied with my life," she said steadily, gazing at the sea. "I have enjoyed in this life all the happiness I am meant for."

"Oh, no, no, my lady!" he cried out mockingly. "Your happiness is a matter of tomorrow and forever. You have a long life ahead."

Melisende looked at Robin, a strange smile on her lips. Suddenly, she spurred on her mount and galloped away, ignoring Robin's cries and pleas to wait for him and the guards. She could see only the seashore and could distinguish the voices of Robin and the guards far away.

"If you continue demonstrating your foolish headstrongness, I will forbid you from riding as soon as we are married," she heard the familiar voice speak harshly beside her. It was Robin's voice.

Melisende turned her head, and her eyes met Robin's cold gaze. "Great God! You are already here!" She looked around and saw the guards quickly catching up with them.

"Yes, I am here; the guards are almost here. It wasn't difficult to find you."

"Oh, there is nothing difficult for Robin Hood," she teased him.

His expression turned cold at the sight of her smug face. "Not a long time ago, King Richard ordered me to never leave the camp alone in order not to become an unfortunate victim of our enemies. It may be dangerous here, and I will never let you get yourself killed in the desert."

She grinned at him. "When did you stop disregarding Richard's orders, Robin? I have heard a lot about your behavior in the private guard – you often change decisions, suddenly and arbitrarily. And you are one of the few knights who can go against Richard's orders."

Robin laughed. "I see you know so much about me."

"You could have been executed for insubordination many more times than I have hair on my head."

"Well, but I am still alive," he said with an arrogant smile. "I am Robin Hood!"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, you are very arrogant! But I will correct you – because Richard needs you and loves you, not because you are Robin Hood."

"Oh," he breathed. "But you don't know one important thing: I rarely risk myself in vain and when I am not sure that I will survive, unless I have to save the king."

Melisende rode to him and stopped her horse near his. "Robin," she called. She pronounced his name in her softest and most honeyed tones.

A curious Robin looked at her. "What?"

"I didn't want to scare you," she answered in the same gentle and soft tone. "I am sorry."

"You are very gallant, Lady Melisende," he said with a smile on his face.

"You are smiling," she said teasingly. Her voice held a slight touch of flirtation.

"Do you wish me to weep?"

"No, but I want to see you a little more melancholic."

Robin eyed her beautiful face with the infinite sadness in his eyes. "I have been in melancholy for so long. Now I think I may well regard it as a debt discharged." Then his face recovered all his usual liveliness and smugness. "Besides, melancholy makes people look so plain. And I hate looking plain."

She gave him a searching look, but found nothing on his face, only the familiar indifference and coldness in his blue eyes. "You can never look so, Robin."

"Really?" He chuckled.

"Robin, don't angle for compliments and reassurances!"

Robin raised his eyes and looked at the sky, his eyes taking in the large arrow-headed clouds, the canvas darker and darker with every passing minute. "It is time to return to the camp. It is getting dark." He gave her a conspiratorial glance and winked at her. "Let's ride to the camp surrounded by guards, as if they had arrested us and we were heavily guarded on the way to our prison."

An exhilarated Melisende smiled at him. "I like when you are jesting, Robin. Maybe my marriage to you, an impudent cheeky rogue, will be the happiest day of my whole life," she jested.

Robin looked away. He knew that she was trying to entertain them, but he couldn't think about the wedding day; every time he remembered about his upcoming nuptials he felt that the gulf was inexorably widening between him and Marian. He caught a glimpse of disappointment on Melisende's face before her face turned blank, and he felt guilty; it was not her fault, but only his fault.

Robin turned to her with a doleful smile on his face. "I am sorry," he murmured.

"Robin, don't apologize, I beseech you!" Melisende cried out, laughing.

He tightened the reins and set off at a gallop, signaling Melisende and the guards to follow him. They rode so quickly that the thunderous beat of the galloping hoofbeats reminded a battle drum, loud and incessant. Robin heard the cries of the guards behind him, urging him to wait for them, but he ignored them. He saw that Melisende rose near him, their horses moving almost in unison. They rode at the same speed, paying no attention to anyone, until they reached the walls of Acre, heading to the Citadel of Acre where Melisende stayed together with Count Henry de Champagne and his wife Lady Isabella of Jerusalem.

§§§

The sun had already risen and shone merrily, painting the landscape in a generous coat of golden yellow. The sky was like an azure canvas, speckled with soft white clouds that looked like strings of cotton swirling in unusual patterns. An almost palpable uneasiness hung over the town of Nottingham.

Guy of Gisborne and his guards were riding through narrow, dirty streets in the direction of the Castle of Nottingham. Guy could see many beggars standing along the street, many of them abnormally thin, their eyes hungry and desperate. Most of the beggars stood with their arms outstretched, their palms open in an attempt to attract attention of wealthy people who could give them a coin. Some of them offered black market goods or services in exchange for some money. After Robin Hood's departure from Nottingham, the oppression of the population continued and living conditions became almost unbearable.

Riding on his black stallion, Guy eyed the beggars. The miserable picture of the hungry and ragged people tugged at Guy's heartstrings, but he didn't dip his hand into his purse to throw some coins to them. However, he was overwhelmed by self-loathing and self-hatred. His pride kept him from paying attention to the ragged populace. Yet, his expression was openly shocked for an instant; before he masked it with coldness and nonchalance; Allan had managed to see his master's true feelings, and even without verbal interaction with his right-hand man, Guy knew deep down that Allan had guessed his master's real feelings.

Guy heard several beggars whispering his name with apparent disdain; a feeling of self-loathing gripped his throat, and he swallowed hard against it, battling to maintain a cold façade. As soon as Guy and his men reached them, the beggars automatically recoiled from the sheriff's men in undisguised fear, as if Guy and his escort party were lepers. Guy cringed at the thought that his mere appearance had such a frightening effect on the people; earlier he would have been thrilled because if he couldn't earn their respect, then he could make them fear him; however, now only sadness filled his heart.

Gisborne thought of the old days with longing – the time before his and Isabella's banishment from Locksley. He could remember the time when the market had thrived and many peasants had come there to sell the products that their household didn't consume. Now the market was deserted, and trade no longer existed because the peasants had no money to pay taxes and were barely able to feed themselves. More than seven years ago, when Vaisey and Guy had arrived in Nottingham, the market had still thrived and trade had been active. Presently, the economic situation in Nottingham was radically different.

Guy admitted reluctantly that Robin of Locksley had been right that taxes must have been eliminated to improve the living conditions of the peasants and to boost the economy of the town. Two years ago, Guy had laughed at the ideas of his sworn enemy. Yet, now he was ready to agree with Robin: if there was at least some hope for a brighter future for the people, taxes must have been significantly lowered for a while.

They rode through another narrow street when Guy raised his head and looked up at the sky, but could see little of it. Dilapidated buildings to either side of the street leaned together so that they almost blocked out the sunlight. It was probably for the best, Guy decided bitterly, for his mood was grim, and he was unable to think about anything bright and happy. Moreover, streets were full of garbage because the sheriff didn't allocate enough funds to cover expenses of its transportation from the town to the suburbs; there was a risk that too much direct sun would make garbage stink worse than it had already done.

As they turned to a nearby street, the picture before their eyes drew gasps of amazement from Guy, Allan, and the guards. There was the crowd of beggars that blocked the road as the people slowly moved towards the central square. There were children in the throng; they were weeping and asking their parents for bread.

Guy shuddered in horror mingled with disgust. He could see a thin boy who was sitting on the shoulders of his father, crying and begging his father to give them a piece of bread. He watched several mothers crouch in the mud, grab their children, and hastily free the road for him and his men.

There was a bard in the crowd, who was singing a song about Robin Hood and his band, honoring the outlaws and imploring them to return to Nottingham. The sound of Robin Hood’s name awakened a sheer hatred in Guy’s heart, and his stomach twisted in knots, but the same feeling was quickly replaced by disgust for himself and hatred for Vaisey whose brutal authority was the reason for famine in the town.

Guy knew that these people hated him, and it made him ashamed of himself. Robin Hood wasn’t in Nottingham and couldn’t save anyone, but what mattered was that of the number of cripples, thieves, and beggars almost doubled since Robin’s departure. At that moment, he nearly wished that Hood returned and started feeding the populace again; he was also relieved that the peasants who lived on the lands owned by Robin were able to enjoy the tax grace period of a year, which infuriated Vaisey.

“Make way for Sir Guy of Gisborne!” Allan commanded.

One of the beggars broke into a loud laughter.  Without caring for Allan’s words, he shouted boldly, “And maybe Guy of Gisborne will help his countrymen survive?”

A hush fell over the crowd. And then someone began to whine in a doleful way, half closing his eyes and begging for money. “Charity, please, Sir Guy! Money, please! Help us!”

The shouts of the beggars made Guy shudder inwardly; he was utterly shocked and highly displeased. Upon recovering from his first stupefaction, he planned to order to arrest the beggars and stared at Allan with cold, resolute eyes, but then something snapped in his heart. Instead, his hand touched his purse that hung on his waist; he pulled the reins, reached Allan, and gave him the purse.

“Allan, take this purse and give the coins to these people,” Guy instructed quietly. “Do that when the guards and I will leave. The sheriff shouldn’t know about that.” As he said that, feelings of joy and triumph stirred somewhere in the depths of his heart, but they were mingled with bitterness, for he couldn’t do that openly in fear that Vaisey would learn about the sudden weakness of his heart.

Allan winked at Guy. “Certainly, I will do that with great please.”

Guy nodded and pulled the reins, setting his horse in motion. “Make way for me and my men! Make way for us!” He gave his men commands to clear the road if the crowd didn’t disperse. Then, without casting a glance at the beggars, he spurred on his black stallion and rode away, followed by his guards.

Allan didn’t follow Guy and the others. Instead, he dismounted and started distributing the coins from the purse, enjoying the looks of shock and astonishment on the people’s faces.

A hush fell over the crowd as they heard the sounds of approaching horses. In the next moment, Roger de Lacy and his men emerged from a nearby street; the cart full of bread and more food was driven by an old horse. De Lacy’s men dismounted and started distributing the food to the townspeople; they also distributed coins and fresh water. Meanwhile, the mob applauded with shouts of laughter.

Allan decided that it was a good time to disappear and ride to the castle. He had already distributed the coins Guy had given him, and he couldn’t stay there more, for Guy was waiting for him in the castle. Roger de Lacy eyed Allan suspiciously, his gaze revealing amazement at the sight of the empty purse in Allan’s hands. Allan saluted to de Lacy and then set his horse in a full gallop, heading to the castle.

Meanwhile, Guy was already having a private audience with Sheriff Vaisey. Guy stood near the desk and watched Vaisey pacing the chamber back and forth, the sheriff’s hands clutching an unrolled parchment. At last, Vaisey paused near the window and threw open the wooden shutters, looking out. As the study was located in the tower, Vaisey saw the central courtyard and the whole town very well.

Guy watched the sheriff, trying to guess the reasons for his master’s unexpected anxiety. In the past few days, Vaisey was unusually contemplative and thoughtful. The sheriff often summoned Guy to the study and asked him trivial questions about the collection of taxes in Nottinghamshire. With a sickening feeling of dread mingled with apprehension, Guy thought that Vaisey’s calm demeanor was strange; today everything changed, and calmness was supplanted by tense anxiety.

Vaisey’s small figure in black looked especially unusual against the whitewashed walls adorned with flower engravings, the sheriff’s recent innovation he introduced to better the chamber for his caged birds, as he jested. Guy barely suppressed a sneer, for the sheriff had a strange attitude towards his birds.

The sheriff turned slowly to his henchman. His eyes were evil and perverted, and the grin was even worse – it was horribly fiendish. Then his countenance softened, and he smiled with a touch of warmth. “Gisborne, I care for you, my boy,” he began in a strangely silken tone. “I want us to be together, in a fruitful, life-long partnership. I want to give you power beyond measure.” He slowly walked to Guy. He stared at the raven-haired younger man for a long moment in silence; then he put his hands on Guy’s shoulders. “We will win this game together. We will always be together, like a father and a son.”

Guy was put off by the intensity of Vaisey’s gaze. The sheriff’s eyes were ablaze with hellish fire, and Guy felt as if he were burning in hell at those agonizing moments. The heat emanating from the sheriff nearly burned the black leather of his jacket, and Guy took a step back from his master.

“Yes, my lord,” the words came out with effort.

Feverish despair swept over Guy at the thought that the sheriff was preparing for something utterly important for the future. Guy felt pinned to the ground with shock at the realization that Vaisey’s calmness he had seen in the past days and his today’s anxiety could be explained by the fact that Vaisey’s cunning mind was inventing a Machiavellian plan to kill King Richard and Robin Hood. A growl almost ripped from his throat at the thought that they were probably supposed to travel to the Holy Land again.

The sheriff grinned portentously. “Gisborne, my boy, time of our victory is coming. _We are departing to the Holy Land soon_ ,” he announced bluntly. “You and Allan are going with me.”

A shaken Guy gasped as mortal terror filled his heart. He feared to go to Acre and face Robin Hood. He was terrified that they would fail to assassinate the king. He feared that he would be unable to kill the king. Guy felt as if he were drowning in a sea of despair. Amusingly, he also didn’t want to kill the king, but he was like a wild animal trapped by the sheriff in a golden cage.

Having regained his composure, Guy only blinked as if in surprise. “Did the Hashashin fail to kill King Richard and Robin Hood?” He doubted that it had happened, especially when he remembered that Prince John’s current mistress – Lady Amicia de Beaumont – was King Richard’s secret spy.

The sheriff took a step back, his eyes raking over Guy’s leather-clad form. He knew that such perusal always made Guy feel uncomfortable, and he enjoyed such moments. “We don’t know anything, but Prince John wants us to travel to the Holy Land. The prince fears that Hood will stop the Hashashin, and so he wants us to go to Acre and kill his brother.” He sniggered. “Well, Hood was heroic in the recent bloody battle with the army of Saracens hired by the Black Knights.”

The brows of a confused Guy shot up in surprise. “What?”

Vaisey’s expression changed instantly, evolving into malice. “Our friends – Buckingham, Rotherham, Durham, and Spenser – had a long and disastrous journey to the Holy Land. They organized a massacre in the king’s camp several months ago,” he informed. “That’s why we didn’t see them for many months.”

“The last meeting of the Black Knights took place six months ago – in December in London,” Guy said, struggling to put the notes of displeasure out of his voice. “As now it is May, they should have left for Acre immediately after the meeting, if they have already returned to England.”

“They departed to Acre in two days after the meeting.”

“Prince John didn’t tell us about that.” Guy didn’t like that he knew nothing about the matter.

“I knew that, and it is enough, my boy.”

Guy inwardly seethed with anger. “I didn’t know.”

Vaisey answered, “Don’t be offended, my boy! I told you nothing because I knew that they would fail; Lord Sheridan said the same. We told Prince John that it was a bad idea, but he didn’t listen.” He sniggered. “The prince wanted the Lionheart to be known as _the massacred Weaklingheart, the massacred king_.”

“Did they come close to the camp?”

The sheriff sauntered to his favorite oversized, handsomely crafted chair at the desk and seated himself there. “They did, but only thanks to the chaos in the camp and the treachery of three Crusaders. Well, you remember them from last time, Gisborne. All of them stood near the king and almost killed him, but Hood, Blondie, Leicester, and Hood’s annoying manservant interfered and saved the king.”

“Now I understand why Prince John demands more and more taxes.”

“Exactly, Gizzy! It is expensive to hire an army of Saracen mercenaries.”

“What happened in Acre?” Guy still stood near the desk because Vaisey didn’t permit him to seat down.

With a large and malevolent smile on his face, Vaisey proceeded to a long tale about the massacre in the king’s camp. “Oh, it was a charming massacre, Gizzy! The battle was inside the king’s tent and later near the tent that was surrounded by the Crusaders to protect the Lionheart.” He laughed venomously, his eyes were crinkled and his mouth was stretched wide as he pictured the carnage. “Mmmm… Spenser complained that they stood waist-deep in blood. But I think that it was… very good that many of the king’s men choked on their own blood.” He loved bloodshed, and his wicked heart pounded harder as he imagined the massacre.

Guy flinched inwardly in spite of the friendly smile he showed to his master. “Are they still alive?”

Vaisey released a sigh. “Lord Durham and Lord Buckingham were unscratched. Lord Spenser was injured by Hood; on the way from Acre, he was feverish for… about two weeks, I don’t know for sure how long,” he informed.  “Lord Rotherham was seriously injured by another Crusader, in his side or his chest. He contracted a fever and lost much blood, and he was in such a bad shape that our friends feared that he would die. Buckingham and Durham nursed Rotherham as a child throughout all the three months they spent on a ship; they took a direct route from Acre to Portsmouth through the Pillars of Hercules.”

“Did Rotherham survive, my lord?”

“Yes, he did. Now Rotherham is in one of his estates. He is still recovering and has problems… with his lungs; - his right lung was breached. He must stay bedridden for a while.”

“Well, it looks like Rotherham’s wound was really serious.”

The sheriff’s eyes glistened with sheer malice and rancorous joy. “I would love to see how our… pretty friend, our dear Robin Hood, behaved in the massacre. Lord Spenser adored Hood’s swordplay and said that our little… Our dear forest boy was exceptional and killed everyone on his way.”

Guy didn’t wish to talk about Hood. “But they failed.”

“Yes, Gisborne! And now we will carry out our plan! Isn’t it good, hmm?” Vaisey grinned merrily. “We will kill the lion and will make Prince John happy and grateful.”

“Yes, my lord,” Guy said automatically.

“But there is one problem.”

“What, my lord?”

A scowl crossed Vaisey’s face. “Prince John also wants us to take his personal assassin to Acre. He will be on the mission to kill King Richard and Robin Hood.” He gave a derisive snort. “The assassin has such a funny name! Archer! Archer!” He broke into a loud laugh. “He will join us in Portsmouth.”

“We don’t need him,” Guy claimed.

“We cannot disregard Prince John’s order,” the sheriff declared sadly, his mind plotting. “But we will kill King Richard without anybody’s help. And you, my boy, should concentrate and help me kill the king. This assassin, Archer, must be left out of our business, although we are taking him with us because it is Prince John’s order.” He clapped his hands. “Soon the lion shall roar in pain! His blood will be hot and stick on my hands! The lion’s blood and pain will bring us our great fortune.”

The sheriff’s henchman flushed to the roots of his black hair. “Our fortune?”

Vaisey rose to his feet and leaned closer to Guy. He whispered, their eyes locked, “Gisborne, focus on your fortune and on vengeance. You lost Hood’s lands, and now you have more compelling reasons to fight for the king’s death and avenge your dispossession.”

“Yes, milord,” Guy acquiesced with a disgruntled nod.

The sheriff smiled. He reclined in his chair without taking his eyes off Guy. “Gizzy, I want us to kill the pitiful King Richard together. We will glorify the day when the king is dead.”

Guy swallowed hard. “As you wish, my lord.” A ball of anxiety was growing in the pit of his stomach. His mind raced through the implications of the news: he would have to leave Marian in England and would have to lie to her, for he didn’t want her to know that he would be implicated in a new plot against the king.

§§§

Disguised as the Nightwatchman, Marian mounted the staircase and walked along the upper gallery towards her bedchamber, where she intended to hide herself from the sheriff’s guards. She could hardly breathe after several exhausting minutes when she had been running like a hunted deer. Her heart was pounding like a hammer, and its violent beats threatened to fracture her ribcage. She had never been more frightened in her whole life. She looked around and let out a sigh of relief as there were no guards there. She turned round the corner and made her way through the long corridor towards her and Guy’s room.

Suddenly, Marian heard footsteps behind her but decided not to turn around. She rushed forward, but stumbled into three guards, who were confused at first and then gave an exclamation of surprise, followed by a cry of delight at the realization that they had found the Nightwatchman. The guards grabbed her, and she struggled to free herself from their grip but to no avail. Marian wanted to make use of her fighting skills, and as their grip on her suddenly slackened, she kicked out one of them into the belly, but two more guards threw themselves at her. She started struggling more vigorously, beating and punching the guards, but she was not able to get rid of them as the sheriff’s men held her immobilized her by grabbing both of her legs.

“We have found the Nightwatchman! We found him!” the overjoyed guards chorused.

A scared Marian broke into a tirade of cursing in her mind. Less than an hour ago, she had tried to save the villagers who had been arrested by Vaisey and Gisborne after the recent fight in the central courtyard in Nottingham. Breaking her word to Guy, she had disguised herself as the Nightwatchman and had sneaked into the dungeons to try to free the villagers. Marian desperately wished to save the people from the terrible fate – to be sold to Finn MacMurrough, a rude Irishman who wanted to recruit men into his army and to compel them to fight for the freedom of Ireland, so that he himself could rule Ireland.

On the way upstairs, Marian had been discovered by Allan who had advised her to escape as quickly as her legs carried her. Unfortunately, the worst had happened: one of the sheriff’s guards had roared that they had found the Nightwatchman and had commanded the guards to purse the legendary night hero. The guards had surrounded her in the dungeons, but Marian had fought fiercely with them and had managed to flee. She had successfully made her way to the castle and had begun to climb upstairs and when she had been spotted by several more guards. Now she was surrounded and trapped.

“Silence! Silence!” Guy thundered as he appeared in the corridor and rushed to the Nightwatchman like a leopard determined to catch its prey. He stopped beside the Nightwatchman and the guards.  He turned away from Marian and looked at the three guards who stood confused, staring with wide eyes at their captain in anticipation to hear their master’s orders.

Marian’s eyes locked with Guy’s eyes darkened with anger; she turned her head and met Allan’s horror-stricken gaze. Her heart was beating so fast that she thought it would explode in her chest.

“Sir Guy, we have detained the criminal,” one of the guards boasted. “Let’s see who he is.”

“Should we take him to the dungeons?” another guard asked.

Another laughing guard snickered. “Let’s unmask this night hero!”

The man’s hands reached behind Marian’s ears and unsnapped the fastenings of her mask. As the mask fell to the ground revealing the beautiful woman's face, the guards all gasped in shock. None of them were laughing anymore. The guards stared at the Nightwatchman in horror as they recognized Guy’s wife.

“Guy!” a terrified Marian cried out. Mortal dread was slowly creeping into her consciousness.

 “Sir Guy…” The young guard looked horrified.

“Sir Guy, this is… Lady Marian…” another guard stammered.

“Blimey,” Allan muttered, his face going deathly pale.

Guy looked between the shocked Marian and the astonished faces of his guards. “You stay here,” he said to the guards, his eyes darting to Allan. “Allan, take her to our room and wait there,” he ordered.

A shocked Allan nodded in agreement. Marian felt Guy’s strong arms wrap around her waist. Guy lifted her and passed her to Allan. Then Allan began dragging Marian away. As Marian looked back, a wave of shock flowing over her: she saw Guy plunging his curved dagger into the neck of one guard, into the stomach of the second one, and then into the chest of the third guard. She heard their groans and screams of horror at the realization that their master had become their murderer.

“What… what is he doing?” Marian could barely speak.

“He is saving you, Marian,” Allan muttered under his breath.

“Oh my Lord!” Marian gasped in horror. The realization dawned upon her that the situation impelled Guy to desperate measures – to kill his own men keep the true identity of the Nightwatchman confidential. He had once told her that he would kill anyone for her, but she hadn’t believed him back then.

Allan carried Marian to her and Guy’s bedchamber as if she were a sack of corn. She didn’t resist at all and was so silent that he thought she had passed out from the shock. Allan opened the door with his feet and came in. He crossed the room and gently put Marian on the bed.

Meanwhile, Guy stood over the bodies of three guards, staring at them with distressed eyes, the bloodied dagger clasped in his hand. In the sunlight, the blood-red steel seemed to have transmuted into some otherworldly ruby alloy. Three scarlet corpses lay at his feet, and a pool of blood gleamed dark-red beneath the bodies; the men’s uniforms were soaked with blood. Guy shook his head in disbelief that he had just killed his own men! A panic rose in him as he heard footsteps in a nearby corridor, which set him into motion. He had to leave the place of the crime. He moved like a fury as he strode towards their bedchamber.

The door flung open, and Guy entered, pointing at his wife threateningly. Three strides took him to the bed, and he was already beside Allan, whose face was still pale and shocked. Guy toast on the edge next to Marian and started undressing her. Marian's cheeks flamed darkly at the naked anger in her husband’s face.

“Turn around! Don’t look at her!” Guy screamed at Allan who hurriedly obeyed.

“Guy, please… Guy…” Marian begged him, struggling with him.

Guy growled, “Stop fighting with me!”

“Please… please…” Marian entreated as despair crushed her. She didn’t even think of what she wanted to ask him – whether she beseeched him not to be angry at her or whether she was begging his forgiveness.

When he finished undressing her, Guy threw the Nightwatchman’s costume in Allan’s direction. “Allan, disguise yourself and play your role well. You know what to do.”

Allan looked startled. “Guy, do you want me to stage the Nightwatchman’s escape?”

“Yes, Allan, that’s what we have to do. Please hurry up; we don’t have time left,” Guy spluttered. His voice was tense and slightly shaking. “We will say that the criminal fled after killing three guards.”

“Don’t worry. I will do this,” Allan assented. He quickly started putting on the disguise.

“Allan, be very careful,” Guy urged. He rose to his feet and came to Allan. “Very careful,” he repeated. Guy gave his right-hand man a shove, and Allan hastened to the door.

Allan paused near the door and glanced back at Guy. He said quietly, “I will.”

After the massive door slammed shut behind Allan, Marian remained sitting dazedly on the bed, looking into the emptiness. Everything happened so quickly that she hardly had time to think. She only knew that Guy had saved her and had murdered the sheriff’s guards for her sake. She was deeply touched by his courageous actions that were brutal as well; she hadn’t expected that he could be so protective of her after he had killed Rebecca of Locksley’s son and arrested the villagers of Locksley and other people.

Guy slumped into a nearby chair and took a deep breath. His body and heart ached with the pain of her new betrayal. His anger was bubbling at the surface, and he was losing control over his temper. “Marian,” he called in an unfriendly voice. As she turned to him, he gave her a wolfish glare. “You betrayed your promise to me. You betrayed me again, and now I had to kill my own men to protect you.”

Marian jumped to her feet and stood in front of him, her hands on her hips, shaking with anger. “I tried to persuade you to help the villagers, but you don’t care for the people.”

He sent her a murderous look. “I cannot save all of them! Don’t you understand this, you fool?”

“I know that the sheriff is selling the villagers to raise more money for Prince John,” she challenged Guy. “I cannot seat and watch that the people are sold like slaves.”

“And I couldn’t save these beggars by risking our necks, but I didn’t need to save them,” he shot back.

“Of course,” Marian told him sarcastically, sneering at him. “You couldn’t save them for me because you are so loyal to the sheriff.”

Guy glared at her, his eyes narrowing warningly. “I said that I didn’t need to save them.”

She blinked in amazement. “Why?”

His face split into an unpleasant grin. “Sir Roger de Lacy has become the new hero of the peasants,” he commented with loathing, his gaze never leaving her face. “Lord de Lacy paid to Finn MacMurrough a huge sum of money; the Irishman departed from Nottingham to Provence to hire mercenaries there. The sheriff is going to release the villagers soon; he doesn’t want to have the overcrowded dungeons.”

Marian was relieved, as if a heavy burden had rolled from her shoulders. “De Lacy did the right thing. And what about the increased taxes on mills and other taxes?”

Guy’s face twisted into a look of pure hatred as his mind floated to the day when Robin of Locksley had been pardoned. As Marian instinctively shrank back from him, he forced himself to recover a neutral façade. “Marian, you heard the Royal Proclamation of Hood’s pardon. The people, who live on the lands that constitute the Earldom of Huntingdon and the village of Locksley, are exempted from all taxes for one calendar year, although I suppose the sheriff will eventually have his way… somehow.”

She seated herself on the bed. “What about other people? In Clun, in Nettlestone, in other villages?”

“All other people in Nottinghamshire don’t have the luxury King Richard granted to Hood’s peasants. Extremely high taxation undermines the prosperity of many nobles, but all the lords in the shire pay. The villagers also pay all the taxes.”

“Guy, you must do something! People will starve to death!”

“It has already been done.”

“What?” She frowned.

“De Lacy distributed funds to the peasants honoring King Richard’s last birthday,” he said with apparent distaste. “It was stupid to say that because it is clear that de Lacy did that at Hood’s request.”

“Excellent!” she said with a joyful laugh.

Guy heaved a sigh. “I didn’t tell the sheriff that Roger de Lacy gave huge donations to the villagers; de Lacy was rather discreet, but my men saw him and informed me about his charity.”

Marian smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Guy.”

“Are you pleased now?”

“You did the right thing that you allowed Lord de Lacy to give money to the people. De Lacy is a clever man if he is playing with the sheriff within the law.”

Guy laughed outright, but it seemed to Marian that there was something guarded in his laughter. “Roger de Lacy is using Robin Hood’s money, in fact, King Richard’s money,” he spoke in a vicious voice that made her ball his hands into fists. “And may I remind you that de Lacy threw us out of Locksley Manor.”

Uncertainty and fear pervaded Marian. She was aware of her husband’s hatred for Roger de Lacy, and she was fearful that Guy was planning something against Robin’s friend. She glowered at him and spoke worriedly. “Please don’t tell me that you are going to kill de Lacy.”

“No, the sheriff didn’t give me this order.”

“Vaisey!” she spat bitterly. “Why cannot you stand against him? When will you find enough strength to become your own man?”

“And what did I do for you today?” Guy asked in a steel voice.

“Guy, you have to understand. I had–”

“I am fed up with your explanations!” he roared. “Why are you so stubborn and so reckless?”

“I wasn’t reckless!” she protested.

“Every time you go on the Nightwatchman business something happens. You cannot deny that?”

Marian hung her head. “No, I cannot.”       

Guy emitted a heavy sigh. “At least here we are on the same page.”

Marian and Guy lapsed into silence as they heard Vaisey’s loud voice calling Gisborne and the guards and commanding them to catch the Nightwatchman. The blood drained from Marian's face as it came to her what was happening in the castle now; Allan was saving her, risking his life for her sake. She heard the screams of the guards and understood that commotion escalated in the castle. She felt ashamed of herself, and her heart was overwhelmed with remorse for what she had unintentionally caused today.

She gazed at Guy in despair. “Guy, I am sorry that I put us in danger.”

Guy rose to his feet and stalked towards the bed. He landed on the edge and glanced into her eyes. His gaze was cold and unforgiving, his scowl low and ominous. “Shhh,” he replied, holding his gloved finger at Marian’s lips. “You are a liar, Marian. I believed you, but you again betrayed me. Every day I grew more and more to love you, but you were making a mockery out of me. Every day I wanted to believe that we can be happy together, even after I learnt that you had slept with Hood.” He got to his feet abruptly and walked over to the door.  “But you betrayed me over and over again,” he threw over his shoulder.

“That is not true!” she cried out desperately.

Guy paused and swung around. Glaring into her eyes and taking one menacing step forward, he hissed, “Don’t take me for a fool! All your lies fit you. The way that you behaved with me, your little rides into the forest.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You were trusted here in the castle by all of us.”

Marian lowered her head, looking at the floor. “I know.”

“Every moment that I thought you were a wife and a friend to me, you were betraying me,” he arraigned her, but there was no hatred in his voice. “Don’t tell me about your father and the destroyed Knighton Hall! I defended you and even your father before the sheriff countless times!”

“And I deceived the sheriff to help the people,” she countered him. “And in so doing, I had to deceive you, and I am sorry for that. But is it such a crime to follow my heart?”

Guy approached her. His hands gripped her shoulders, and he looked down at her lovely face. “I love you, Marian,” he said gruffly. “Whatever I do, I want to know that you are safe. That is why today I killed my own men. But I cannot always risk so much.”

“You can turn against the sheriff. You can–”

“Stop before you cross the line, Marian. We have already discussed that.”

“Everything has a price, even a huge price. And everything is a choice,” she retorted, gazing into his eyes. Her eyes were dark with a sudden flash of fury. “You are siding with Vaisey willingly.”

Stony silence was her only response. “Not everything is a choice,” he said after a long pause.

“I kind of agree,” she whispered. “We cannot choose what we feel.”

Marian and Guy continued looking into each other’s eyes, as if they were entranced. For a long moment, they were oblivious to anything around them as they lost themselves in contemplating one another.

Marian said in her mind that _if she needed to choose whom to love, she would have probably chosen Guy_. Nevertheless, _Robin was always on her mind_ , and she always hesitated, cursing her own confusion. It was a choice – not a chance – which determined destiny. Marian had made her choice to marry Guy, but she still brooded over her past decisions, torn between Robin and Guy. Maybe choices were questionable; perhaps not only choice could influence her life, or maybe she did make a wrong choice.

She stared at her wedding ring with an oval cut center diamond surrounded by five diamonds. She sighed as she remembered the engagement rings Robin had given her twice when he had proposed to her. When he had proposed before his first departure to the Holy Land, he had given her an exquisite silver ring featuring the massive sapphire carved in the shape of a flower and three small oval cut diamonds around the center; she loved that ring. The second ring had been a beautiful engagement ring featuring a large oval cut emerald surrounded by a sunburst of diamonds; but it had been large and rather eccentric.

Her gaze drifted to Guy's wedding ring on her right hand; she liked it a great deal, but there was no ring that could ever compare to her sapphire engagement ring that she had thrown in Robin's face when he had notified her about his decision to go to war. That ring had been a graceful and elegant piece of jewelry that once belonged to Robin's mother. Now she wanted to learn about the fate of that ring, wondering whether Robin had picked it up in the forest after she had thrown it in his face.

Guy sighed. Even though Robin was Marian’s first lover, he didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t believe he could fall out of love with Marian; at least he wanted to think so because she was his only salvation from his demons and his misery. He wanted her complete surrender, to know that he conquered her heart and that at any moment he could possess her and she could do nothing to stop herself. He craved to make her forget about Robin of Locksley. He was sure that one day she would grow to love him with all her heart.

All of a sudden, Guy leaned forward, and Marian flung herself into his embrace. He drew her to him and kissed her on the lips, fiercely and possessively. They clung to one another like two drowning souls in a dark ocean. Their tongues touched and tangled in a mating dance, their breathing intermingled. It was thrilling, so much so that she smiled as they kissed, and she groaned in fast-rising lust. Guy’s fingers entwined into her hair while his hand was roaming over her hip and down her leg, then upward again, urging her closer.

Guy drew back and stared at her, his eyes stormy with passion. “When you are with me, I want to forget everything and everyone in the world.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Even the sheriff?”

Guy nodded slowly. “Especially Vaisey.”

Marian looked at him, her eyes large and smoldering. “When you are sincere and kind and brave, I think I love you, Guy,” she admitted, unexpectedly, even to herself.

His warm smile answered hers. “I love you, Marian.”

Guy pulled Marian closer to himself and hugged her tightly. Unable to resist the sweet lure of her lips, he gave a low groan and captured her mouth with his. He kissed her hungrily, surrendering himself to the driving, primitive emotions that flooded through him at the touch of his lips against hers. Marian trembled from the force of desire that swamped her as Guy's warm, questing tongue filled her mouth, the velvet length of it stroking seductively against her own tongue, blatantly inviting her to follow suit.

The spell was broken by the sheriff’s loud scream of rage. Marian and Guy parted from one another. Sheriff Vaisey was beside himself with anger, shrieking, and cursing. It seemed that his rancorous voice had destroyed the moment of sweetness for Marian and Guy and held them motionless as they stared at each other fixedly. Then they heard the sheriff’s another scream, and shuddered.

“His screams… like a wild beast howling in open-throated fury,” Marian said in an irritated manner.

“His temper is like molten lava,” Guy agreed. “He is very angry.”

Guy marched to the door and opened it. He paused for an instant, half turning to her and giving her a mournful smile. A look of pain and resignation flashed across his visage, but it vanished swiftly. He had to go face Vaisey because it was his duty to obey his master, and Guy exited the room.

§§§

In the corridor, Guy heard the familiar angry shouts, as well as sounds of the voices calling the guards, and then the sheriff’s curses that the Nightwatchman had escaped after killing his men. He laughed cynically, his voice thickening with emotion of his triumph over Vaisey that he had finally managed to outsmart the crafty sheriff and, most importantly, had saved Marian.

“Gisborne! Gisborne! Where are you, idiot? Come to me, you blithering oaf! You again failed me! You failed to capture the Nightwatchman!” Vaisey screamed, his fury rising and making his blood boil. “And now the Nightwatchman started killing my men!”

Guy saw Vaisey near the staircase. “Milord, I am sorry, but what happened?”

“Gisborne, are you deaf and dumb? I called you, but you didn’t answer!” the sheriff snarled, advancing towards his henchman. “You failed to capture Robin Hood and Hood’s accomplice, the Nightwatchman! But I still want the Nightwatchman and Hood’s pretty little faces on their pretty little heads attached to their pretty little bodies on a pretty big spike outside my chamber!”

Guy looked at his master helplessly. “I will do everything I can, milord.”

“You will fail, as always. You are so worthless,” Vaisey hurled more insults at Guy.

“Sire, I assure you that I will not fail next time,” Guy protested.

“Gisborne, you have a visitor!” the sheriff informed.

Guy gave a curt nod, his eyes curious as to whom the sheriff meant. “I will see him.”

Vaisey and Guy made their way downstairs, to the great hall. Guy ran his eyes across the vast area and gasped at the sight of his visitor, whom he recognized even from the back. It didn’t matter that he didn’t see her for so many years, for he could recognize the guest even from the distance.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the lady said in sweetest tones.

Gisborne lowered his head. “Good afternoon,” he barked, not looking at his visitor.

Vaisey let out a viperous laugh. “Well, you might lower your head in shame, Gisborne. You have let our night hero escape again and this, this... Is this… is what distracted you?” He pointed his finger at the lady and laughed louder, the ugly sound reverberating in the vacuum of the room. 

“This is my sister, Lady Isabella Ghislaine of Shrewsbury,” Guy informed. “You know her very well.”

“My lords, I prefer to be called Lady Isabella of Gisborne,” Isabella noted with a small smile. She strode forward and curtsied deeply before the sheriff. “I am pleased to meet you again, Lord Vaisey.”

The sheriff chucked. “It is good to see you, little Isabella, after so many years! I didn’t recognize you at first… but now I see that it is really you.”

Isabella smiled. “My lord, I am pleased to see you, too.”

Vaisey laughed, staring at Guy. “Oh, I am so sorry. Gizzy, you were busy playing happy families.” He took a step towards Guy and playfully patted his shoulder. “Your level of incompetence never ceases to amaze me, Gisborne. Every time I think you have plumbed a new depth, you again disappoint me! Well, maybe now Prince John will remember why he put me in command!”

The sheriff walked away in a proud manner, his hands clasped behind his back. Isabella and Guy of Gisborne looked at each other, both contemplating one another after so many years of separation. Isabella’s lovely face was crumpled with fright, and all her wits deserted her for a short moment at the sight of Guy’s impassive and cold face before she recovered her confidence.

“Oh, Guy, I finally found you!” Isabella cried out. “Are we going to talk here?”

“No, Isabella. Follow me,” Guy instructed.

Guy walked down the great hall, heading to the study. He abruptly stopped as he saw Marian standing on the stairs. His wife moved slowly and gracefully, her eyes focusing at the unfamiliar lady. Guy lowered his gaze, displeasure spreading over his features; he didn’t wish to Marian to interact with Isabella.

“Good afternoon,” Marian began, her tone formal.

Isabella made a gracious curtsey to Marian. “I hope you are doing well, my lady.” She turned her gaze to Guy. “Guy, she is your wife? Congratulations, you won a good prize.”

Guy might have shot him a wry look had the matter not been so unpleasant for him. “Yes, Lady Marian Fitzwalter of Knighton, Lady Gisborne, is my wife.”

Isabella contemplated Marian for a moment; then she smiled. “I am pleased to meet you.”

“Marian, this is my sister, Lady Isabella of Gisborne,” Guy introduced, his tone tense.

“I am… pleased to meet you, too, Lady Isabella.” Marian sounded baffled and slightly amused.

Studying the young woman closely, Marian thought that Lady Isabella of Gisborne was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. Isabella was dressed in an expensive pale yellow muslin dress trimmed with a low V-shaped neckline and delicate yellow lace. Her long dark brown hair was unbound, flowing down her back like a second veil. Her gown set off the color of her hair and enhanced the rosy glow of her cheeks and lips. In sunlight, she glittered like a sun-drenched crystal.

Marian could see the amusement lurking in Isabella’s eyes every time she batted those long lashes at Guy. Her blue eyes were expressive and almond-shaped, sparkling like the depths of a blue ocean above her full, sensual lips. Her nose was small and straight, emphasizing high cheekbones and a long, swan-like neck. She moved with the natural grace Marian couldn't help but envy. Her small, voluptuous body was clearly defined beneath the revealing clothes she wore, causing Marian to catch her breath in dismay.

“Lady Marian, I remember you as a small girl; you were beautiful and stubborn. You always peaked my interest, for you were a unique child,” Isabella purred, looking at Marian with a wide smile.

Marian arched a brow. “You knew me as a child?”

Isabella flashed a sweet smile. “Of course. At that time, you were always running around with Robin of Locksley. I also played with you from time to time.”

His eyes on his sister, Guy snapped coldly, “Enough, Isabella,” he said in authoritative tones. He came closer to his wife and took her hands in his, his fingers gently stroking her palms. “Marian, I am sorry, but I need to talk to my sister in private.”

“I will wait for you upstairs,” Marian conceded. She glanced at Isabella uneasily. “I wish you to have a pleasant evening, Lady Isabella,” she said formally and curtsied to Guy’s sister.

“You are most kind,” Isabella said, also curtsying to the younger woman.

“Finish your exchange of pleasantries,” Guy grunted. “Isabella, follow me.”

Guy let Marian go and walked to Isabella. He eyed his sister suspiciously, and then extended his hand to her; she took his hand, smiling at Guy. Isabella smiled at Marian, and followed her brother.

Marian stared after the retreating backs of Guy and Isabella, silently feeling anxious as their reunion clearly didn’t please Guy. Marian was smitten with Isabella’s beauty, but she didn’t feel emotional attachment to her. Marian hesitated a little, and then she sauntered towards the staircase.

As Marian was about to exit the great hall, Allan entered. He was flushed and breathless after running from the sheriff’s men in the Nightwatchman’s disguise into the town; in one of the empty lanes, he had hastily changed his clothes and then hurried back to the castle.

“Hey!” Allan’s voice resonated near Marian. “I am here.”

Marian went to greet Allan. She was very grateful for what he had done for her. “Allan? Are you alright?” she asked, giving him a worried look.

“I am fine, and you are safe,” Allan said quietly but firmly.

She smiled at him with gratitude. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

“You are welcome, Maz.” Allan smiled back at her. “Where is Guy?”

“Guy is with his sister, Lady Isabella of Gisborne. She arrived here an hour ago.”

Allan’s eyed widened in astonishment. “Guy has a sister?”

Marian made a helpless gesture. “Yes.”   

“Oh!” Allan blinked.

“I had the same reaction when I learned about her existence.”

“Let’s go upstairs, Marian.” He smiled warmly, motioning with his head.

Guy of Gisborne stepped into the spacious study, and Isabella entered after him. As she shut the door, he immediately started pacing the chamber up and down, his hands clasped behind his back and an anxious look on his face. Abruptly, he came to a stop in front of his sister.

Guy stared at his sister, his forehead furrowing in displeasure. “Why are you here, Isabella?”

Isabella sat down in a nearby chair with a little sigh of relief they were finally alone, spreading the shimmering skirts of her gown about her. “I could not endure another day with him.”

His scowl deepened. “And what, Isabella? You just walked away?” He pointed an angry finger at her. “You were joined in holy matrimony!” He turned away from her and looked into emptiness.

Isabella’s eyebrows shot up, her temper immediately rising. A feeling of burning hatred revived and bloomed in her heart. But she smiled at him, reminding herself why she had come to Nottingham and who had sent her. “I was only a thirteen-year-old girl. If you have any idea what he did to me...”

He demanded, “What do you want from me?”

She clasped her hands together in a gesture of childish entreaty. ”Guy, I am your sister. Surely, you didn’t forget that we have the same blood in our veins. All I ask for is your protection.”

“Really? And what if I decide to send you back to your husband?”

Isabella shook her head in despair. “Then you would be condemning me to a life of misery for the second time. Only this time you would be doing it knowingly.”

“Why should I care about that?"

The expression on her face was impenetrable; her eyes were empty like a well that ran dry. “Guy, I don’t believe you knew the damage you were causing when you sent me to Squire Thornton, but now you do know the truth. Surely you must feel some obligation to me, a sense of loyalty and duty?”

“Loyalty? And can I expect loyalty from you?”

“Give me a chance,” Isabella begged.

“You must swear that you will never talk about Robin of Locksley in my presence,” he requested.

She gazed at him in bewilderment. “You still hate him?”

“Never say his name!” Guy shrieked indignantly, clenching his fists.

“I swear that I will never remind you about him,” she pledged. “I will earn your trust and your respect, but please... don’t send me back to my husband.”

“If you defy my authority, I will drag you back to Shrewsbury myself,” he promised. “Is that clear?”

Isabella darted him a vulnerable look. “You have my word, brother.”

“Very well, then you may stay under my protection,” he told her.

She had sensed Guy’s hesitation before her brother’s voice came to her, cold and distant. She got what she wanted, and it was all that mattered. She uttered with feigned gratitude, “Thank you, Guy.”

“You shouldn’t thank me. I don’t think that you will like living here.”

Isabella smiled. “Believe me that it will be much, much better than it was with my husband.”

“You shouldn’t have walked away from your husband,” he continued almost rudely. “If Squire Thornton finds you and comes here, I will make you leave with him.”

“Guy, do you hate me so much that you are ready to give me back to my husband?”

“Stop talking nonsense, Isabella,” he growled. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Isabella tossed her head. “And does being married to a cruel beast suit me well?”

With some difficulty, Guy bit back the comment that he wasn’t interested in knowing anything about her family life. ”Does your husband at least know where I live? Can he come here?”

“Guy, you haven’t answered my question.”

“The same old same old,” he snapped wrathfully. “Will you ever grow tired of complaining?”

“Why should I?” Isabella glowered at him defiantly, her eyes icy blue daggers. “You don’t know whom you gave my hand in a marriage so many years ago in Angers.”

“Isabella, I gave you a chance to have a better life.”

She scoffed. “You don’t know what I had to endure in my marriage!” She sounded desperate, but her tone was chilly. “I hate my wedding day! It was the day when my life was ruined!”

Many years ago, Vaisey and Guy had left Rouen and had traveled through the county of Anjou, heading to Angers. Isabella had accompanied Guy on the trip. She had been displeased that Guy had forced her to leave the castle in Conches, where he had arrived from Rouen and had announced that he had left Sir Roger de Tosny’s service. Isabella had wanted to stay in the castle where she had lived for several years in happiness, enjoying Roger de Tosny’s attention, as well as by his kindness and courtesy. She had been even more displeased that Guy had forced her to leave Normandy and travel to Anjou.

Vaisey and Guy had murdered several knights loyal to Prince Richard in the city of Angers. It had been the first time when Guy had literally bathed in blood of the innocent men whom he had cruelly slain at Vaisey’s order. He had been christened as an experienced cool-blooded murderer in Angers, not in Rouen where he had killed only one man in the Forest of Rouvray after meeting with Vaisey. In Angers, Vaisey had become _Guy’s godfather, the executioner of his innocence and his most vicious tormentor._

In Angers, Vaisey had introduced Guy to Squire Thornton, his second cousin, who had been attracted to Isabella at first glance. The sheriff had paid Guy only a small fee for his services, explaining that he had already pardoned Guy a huge debt. Vaisey had told Guy that he couldn’t have given him money to pay for his knighthood training in Rouen. Besides, Guy hadn’t had enough money to support Isabella financially. Thus, he had quickly agreed when Square Thornton had offered him a good fortune for Isabella.

Guy had thought that his sister needed the gravitas of marriage to elevate her social standing in the English hierarchical society; he had believed that marriage to Thornton would give his sister a chance to have a better life. It had prompted Guy to sell his own sister to the man whom he had seen only once in his life. After the wedding, Guy had left his sister with Squire Thornton and had departed with Vaisey.

“You are exaggerating,” Guy snapped. “Your husband is a wealthy man. He can take care of you.”

She stiffened, her jaw clenched. “My husband doesn’t care for me as a person. I am not a human being in his eyes – I am nothing for him. He only wants to spend days with a pile of smelly fleeces and make me spin wool all day while he enjoys insulting and beating me!”

“You are his wife! You must obey your husband! He is your lord!”

Isabella wore a look of puzzlement, but soon smiled again. “My husband has been beating me throughout many years. And you think that it is alright because we are a wedded couple and because he is my lord?”

Guy had nothing to tell her. He hadn’t known Squire Thornton and had never suspected that he could be cruel to Isabella. If he agreed with her, it would mean that he admitted his own mistake, and it was not what he wanted. “Isabella, please let’s finish this conversation.”

“I just want to understand, Guy, how you could have married me off to the man whom you saw only once in your life,” she persisted. “You got rid of me as though I had been a piece of dirt.” Her face became wistful. “You and I lived so well in Conches, at Sir Roger de Tosny’s beautiful castle. We were not rich, and we didn’t have lands, but we were not poor and we didn’t starve.”

“Isabella, stop before you cross the line.” He was barely holding his temper back. The reminder of the fact that he had left his service to Sir Roger de Tosny after the man had been wounded on a tournament in Rouen sent him to the verge of madness. It was one of the most significant regrets in his life.

“Sir Roger de Tosny was interested in me,” Isabella persisted, her stubborn and wounded heart pushing her to continue. Memories were flooding her from all directions. “Sir Roger was so kind to me! He always invited me to ride together, and you allowed us to ride into the forest without being chaperoned by you. He gave me some gifts, including my favorite sapphire necklace which I still wear.”

“I am aware that Roger liked you,” Guy agreed. “I didn’t chaperone you because I trusted him.”

“And you didn’t trust me, did you?”

“Isabella,” Guy addressed his sister in a warm voice, “You were just a girl of twelve years old when Roger showed his interest in you. He could have done nothing to you. And Roger is an honest and kind man.”

“Sir Roger de Tosny is a man of honor,” Isabella affirmed without a shadow of doubt, her expression unusually bright. “And if I were older and if you didn’t leave his service, he would have started courting me.” Her eyes revealed anguish. “Sir Roger could have wedded me if you, Guy, didn’t run away from him to Lord Vaisey! And then I would have been free from my husband who made my life a living hell!” She gritted her teeth. “It would have been better to retire to a convent than to be married to Thornton!”

A cold and bloody rage overtook Guy. Her words cut him like a blade. “What don’t you understand, Isabella?” he bellowed. “You know very well that Roger was seriously wounded on a tournament. He barely survived his injury. He didn’t need a squire at least for six months; but we did need money to survive.”

Isabella let out a sarcastic laughter, her expression grim. “It is a typical argument,” she said with contempt. “You always find something to justify yourself.”

“Isabella, if you don’t stop your hysteria, I myself will take you back to your husband, to Shrewsbury.”

She was glaring at him, but now her eyes brimmed with tears and her lips moved as if she were silently mouthing words of hurt. “I hate you!'” she spat at last. She turned on her heels and ran towards the hall.

Guy sighed heavily. Isabella needed a firm hand to control her and guide her in a life. More specifically, she needed a hand of a firm man whom she could have considered an authority and whom she could have respected. It seemed that Squire Thornton couldn’t be such a man, but Isabella was a married woman, and there was nothing that could have changed that, apart from her husband’s death.

He wondered whether her heart was too scarred by the unfortunate experience in her marriage. Young Isabella had always been prone to dramatization, and he assumed that she didn’t change and might have exaggerated her personal drama. His mind went to the thoughts of Sir Roger de Tosny, Baron de Conches, who had fancied Isabella in the past, and his heart filled with pain that he had been forced by Vaisey to leave Roger. If he had continued serving de Tosny at least for some time more, Isabella could have married Roger.

At the same time, Isabella was running to her bedroom where she was lodged at Vaisey’s order. As soon as she remained alone, she felt tears prickling behind her lids. She was shuddering in a mixture of rage, hatred, and heartache. She was sobbing with frustration and fury at her own inability to control her fate, to be independent from men whom she had grown to hate. She hurled herself on the bed, her face buried in her hands, and she began to cry. The pain was so strong that didn't allow her to think clearly.

Isabella hated Guy for marrying her off to a cruel beast that had violated Isabella physically every day and had almost murdered her several times. She hated the day of her wedding to the man who had ruined her world, the last happy day of her life. She hated Squire Thornton with all her heart, but she had played a role of a happy wife throughout the long years of their dreadful marriage. And beneath the pretense, she had hated her life. The only alternative had been to run away, but long years of married life in Shrewsbury had deprived her of all the contacts in England her parents while Guy had deserted her a long time ago.

Squire Thornton had almost broken her spirit and will, but she had survived. Isabella of Gisborne had been alone in the world with her pain and hatred, and, hence, she had stayed in Shrewsbury, chained to Thornton and obliged to endure his wanton cruelty and sadism, paying a high price for being fed and having a roof above her head. There had been no light in Isabella’s life until the day that had been much better than any other day in her life since her marriage. Maybe one day she would be able to find enough strength to tell Guy how many horrible things her husband had done to her.

Isabella cried many tears for all of her own emotional pain and her inner disharmony. She wept herself dry until there was not one tear left. From there, she drifted into an exhausted doze.

§§§

During the next few days, Marian spent most of her time in her and Guy’s bedchamber. Guy requested that she be confined to their room, which puzzled her. Every morning she awoke and found several platters with food on a silver tray as Guy had ordered to bring the meal to her to prevent her from leaving the room.

Marian saw that something serious was going on around her, but she had no clue as to what it could be. Guy became very reserved and extremely secretive, and his unusual demeanor proved that something was going on. She was frightened, but put on a serene face and smiled at him with a fake smile. Guy didn’t want to talk about Isabella and didn’t even encapsulate as to why she had come to Nottingham. The sheriff was in unusually high spirits, and Marian wondered what caused such a dramatic change in the man who had been full of wrath about two weeks ago when he had again failed to capture the Nightwatchman.

Guy made love to Marian every night. She feared that she could have been pregnant after her only time with Robin in the woods, but nothing had happened. Robin had promised her that everything would be alright because he had been excessively careful. She didn’t need to be experienced to understand what he had meant: Robin was intimate with many women, but he had never sired a bastard on any of his lovers, as he himself had told Marian, for he had known how to effectively prevent the conception of a child.

Now Marian was a married woman, and she wondered why she didn’t conceive yet: Guy and she shared a bed regularly, they didn’t use birth control, and she had many chances to conceive. Then she remembered her injury in her lower abdomen which Guy had inflicted on her on the night when she had tried to rob him before their first wedding ceremony. Djaq had informed Marian that she would probably have problems to conceive. A few months ago, Matilda had told her the same when she had asked why she hadn’t gotten pregnant yet; the old healer had shrugged and advised to continue trying for a baby, stating that at times it could be difficult to conceive. Marian wanted to have her own child and feared that she was barren.

Guy of Gisborne often made love to his wife till dawn, trying to drive all the shadows of the past from her heart and mind, leaving only passion to color her dreams. Her husband teased and tantalized her until she was drunk with his kisses and touches. She writhed and moaned in his arms, her groans deep and throaty with emotion. Yet, she still remembered Robin, and her mind often drifted back to her former betrothed while Guy kissed and caressed her; Robin’s ghost haunted her day and night.

Once, Guy came to the bedroom after midnight. He had spent the whole evening with the sheriff in the study, planning their upcoming trip to Acre. Vaisey had also invited Isabella to have a cup of ale together; Guy had noticed that his sister had communicated more eagerly with Vaisey than with him, his own brother, and he was both puzzled and displeased. If she hated Squire Thornton, then she must have hated Vaisey as well because the sheriff had gotten Guy acquainted with Squire Thornton, the sheriff’s distant cousin. Yet, Isabella seemed to like Vaisey’s company more than Guy’s.

“Marian, I will have to leave soon,” Guy began in a low voice. He removed his sword belt and put his sword on a table in the corner. Then he started unfastening his shirt.

Marian already lay in the bed. Looking at him, she felt her body trembling. “Why?” she asked quietly.

“The sheriff and I have to leave Nottingham for a while.”

She arched a brow. “Are you again going to London?”

Guy finished undressing and was now sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing at his wife. He stiffened and a frown creased his face. “I have many deals to do for the sheriff, Marian. I must go, and nothing can stop me, not even you,” he said belligerently, as if it was her fault that he had to depart.

She met his eyes briefly and hastily looked away. A vague feeling of alarm was rapidly becoming a strong suspicion. “How long will you be gone?” she managed to ask after a long pause.

“I will be absent for… several weeks,” Guy murmured, wishing that she didn’t ask him any questions. He lied that he would be absent for several weeks instead of six months or more. He couldn’t tell her the truth.

A baffled Marian looked back at him. “So much time?”

Guy nodded in confirmation. “You think so?”

“And you are ready to leave me again?”

His expression softened. “Life will be like purgatory without you; I don’t want to go there, but I have to.”

“Then stay with me.” Her tone was almost pleading.

“I cannot.” He shook his head, looking into her eyes. “Will you miss me?”

“Yes, Guy, I will,” she said with a small smile. She didn’t lie – she missed him when he was away.

Guy took Marian’s hands in his and kissed both each of them. There was silence for some time between them. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with regret and shame. “There is a thin line between love and hatred. I fear you will start hating me,” he said in a strange manner, as if it were something inevitable.

Marian scrutinized him, suspecting the facetiousness of his words. But Guy didn’t have Robin’s delightful tongue-in-cheek humor, and she had no reason to suspect that he was jesting. And if Guy was being serious, then it meant that he was implicated in something that would bring much damage to the lives of others. A presentiment of evil and disaster pervaded Marian at the thought that Guy was going to kill King Richard.

“Why should I?” she asked cautiously.

A look of vulnerability briefly crossed his face. “People mostly hate me.”

“When you perform your job for the sheriff, I think I ought to hate you,” she whispered in a voice sodden with mellow sadness. “But when you are honest and sincere, I cannot hate you. I feel for you.”

“You are frightfully good to me,” Guy cried out miserably, kissing her hands again.

Sighing deeply, Guy leaned over to snuff the candles on a bedside table. Then he drew the hangings close around the bed. Marian would have preferred to see his expression, but he had probably quenched the light so that she couldn’t. That confirmed her suspicions that something serious and bad was going on.

Guy took Marian in his arms and moved her to himself so her whole body was cradled against his. He kissed her with a strange, disquieting mixture of need and anger. She felt his hand go under her nightgown and cupped her breast, his palms and fingers hard from wielding a sword, but still oddly gentle. He deepened the kiss as his hand continued stroking over the skin of her flat stomach, caressing her thighs and stomach and breasts. Never had Marian been kissed with such rapacious hunger. Never had Guy poured so much incandescent passion into his kisses and caresses, and she thought that she might melt like candle wax. Then he lay atop of her, and they became one in a dance of physical love.

After their lovemaking was over, Marian lay in his arms, a storm of unabated emotions raging inside her. In a few minutes, she got hold of herself and started trying to combine all of the many disjointed snippets of information she collected so far. It was like being blindfolded and walking into a dark forest, hoping to find a way to her final destination, yet knowing that she would need a glimpse of sunlight to avoid losing her way in the maze of trees and bushes. Her mind raced through the events of the past weeks, but she was still at the dead end. In spite of all her fears and anxiety, a tired Marian then fell asleep.

Unlike Marian, Guy was gripped by powerful nightmares, tossing and turning in his bed. In his dreams, he saw the halo of the burning Gisborne Manor, Bailiff Longthorn, and a crowd of irate villagers. He could hear the bailiff’s sharp voice commanding to set the fire at the façade of the manor, his words stabbing Guy right into his heart. He heard how the bailiff intimidated the villagers that leprosy would kill everyone in Locksley and in Nottingham if they didn’t stop spreading the disease in the village and in the shire.

Guy moved his body and rolled over on his belly, heat burning his skin as if he himself were burning from the inside out. He envisioned the villagers throwing torches at the manor and could hear them screaming as the flames were licking at the roof. He could hear the bailiff accusing him of murdering his own parents and banishing him and Isabella from Locksley. Robin’s frightened face flashed in his mind, but in the next moment, his mind envisaged Isabella and himself leaving Locksley and Robin watching their plight.

Soon another nightmare gripped Guy. Gruesome visions pervaded his mind: visions of chopped-off heads and limbs, of corpses with sightless eyes staring at them in silent accusation; on top of that, he felt as if he were reliving every action of his own, every thrust of his broadsword in stomachs, chests, necks, skulls, sides, and thighs. His body trembled as he imagined the corpses of all his victims which were arranged in a very long line. Guy could see the face of every man he had killed, and their eyes full of horror and pain. His victims always appeared in his horrible dreams like ravenous beasts ready to tear his heart and soul apart.

Soon Guy was again dreaming of the fire, but not at Gisborne Manor – instead, visions of hell and hellfire resurfaced in his mind. A black male figure emerged from the flames, the man’s features indistinguishable. Guy saw himself stepping away from the flames as he was trying to run away but failed. He could feel the rough hands grabbing his shoulders and pulling him closer. At last, Guy could see the face of his tormentor – a sneering Vaisey was so close that he shuddered in revulsion mingled with horror. Vaisey extended his hand and Guy took it, the sheriff howled with triumph and led him to the deepest pits of hell.

Guy screamed in horror. His eyes flung open, his eyes were wild. He moved himself into a sitting position and stared into space. His night robe was soaked with cold sweat. “God help me,” he murmured.

Marian also awoke, staring at Guy in the darkness. “Guy, what is going on? Did you have a nightmare?”

“I did,” he confessed.

She wrapped her arm around his back and started to shove herself upright. Sitting in the bed, she called him, “Guy…” Her voice halted, as if something had gotten stuck in her throat.

He drew away from her. “I am alright.”

“No, you are not,” she protested, releasing a sigh of disheartenment.

“I am fine,” he growled, shifting further away from her.

In the darkness, she couldn’t see him, but she felt him shaking.  “I want to help you.”

Guy looked at her apologetically. “I am sorry,” he murmured. “Please sleep.”

Marian nodded wordlessly. She had understood a while ago that Guy had suffered from the nightmares about his parents’ deaths in the fire. She guessed that he might have dreams about the people murdered by him as well. She once tried to talk to him about his dreams, wishing to ease his burdens, but he always cut her off sharply, saying that he wasn’t ready to be frank. If she insisted, he became angry, and they quarreled.

Guy lay under a blanket, his eyes shut, his breathing labored. His horrible dreams were nothing new to him. He had the same dreams for many years. The dream about Vaisey and hellfire was a new nightmare that started plaguing him only recently. He often wondered whether this nightmare meant that he would end up in hell after his death if he didn’t do anything to atone. Nightmares drained Guy’s energy at night, and he wished to have at least an hour of peaceful sleep. When will these dreams leave him in peace? He was ready to tolerate the dreams about the fire at Gisborne Manor and even about Robin Hood, but not about the sheriff and hell. What should he do now? Why had God forsaken him many years ago?

The next morning, Marian awoke later than usual to the sunlight piercing through the window in the bedroom. Guy was not in the bed, and she believed that he had left at dawn. She climbed out of the bed and found several platters with food on her bedside table. She nibbled her meal slowly, although it was delicious. After the breakfast, Marian began pacing her bedchamber restlessly, uncertain what to do next. She longed to go out, but she didn’t wish to break the word she had given to Guy – she had promised that she would stay in her room for some time and wouldn’t leave it; she didn’t want to have arguments with him. As time was passing, she grew increasingly discontented because of being obliged to remain indoors.

Unable to endure loneliness anymore and to battle with her growing worry, Marian donned a modest leaf green gown trimmed at the hem with gold embroidery and adorned with light green laces on the sleeves. The gown was gorgeous, made out of expensive silk that draped and clung to her graceful and well-curved body, accentuating her beauty in the way that made clear it had been crafted for her alone; it was one of Guy’s recent gifts to Marian. Marian took a deep breath and said a silent prayer that she would find Allan soon, for he was the only man who could enlighten her about the secret events in the castle.

Marian stopped Allan in one of the corridors. “What is going on? Why is everyone so anxious?”

Allan looked around to make sure that they were alone. “The sheriff says that we are leaving very soon.”

She heaved a sigh. “Well, have they told you why?”

“We are going to Portsmouth,” he responded after a short pause. “That’s all I know, Marian, alright? And you didn’t get that from me.”

“You know what this means?”

“No, I don’t.”

All at once, her expression changed into coldness. Her brain was reeling with shock, her heart pounding, her knees trembling. “The king... They must be expecting the king to land in Portsmouth.”

Allan shook his head in denial. “No, Maz. The king is in the Holy Land. I know this for sure. This trip could mean anything for all I know.”

“That’s not enough, Allan! They are planning something! What if it concerns the king? Or what if they are planning to sail for Acre to kill the king?”

His brow wrinkled as he began to think hard. “It is possible,” he admitted after a moment’s pause. “This trip is just the sheriff, Gisborne, and I. No soldiers, no mercenaries, but I feel it is serious.”

“Are you going to do something?”

Allan gave a sour laugh. “Look, I am just a whipping boy around here.”

Marian scoffed. “The packing boy.” She pointed a finger at him. “Look, if you go along with treason, then you are committing treason too.”

Allan laughed. “I am not committing an act of treason because I am going to contact Robin.”

Her face brightened, and her heart hammered harder. “Robin? How?”

He leaned to her ear and whispered, “The man whom the sheriff killed on the day of the fight with the villagers gave me Robin’s letter. Robin asked for my help, and, of course, I agreed.”

“Excellent!” she cried out joyfully. Then her face darkened. “But Robin is in the Holy Land…”

“Lord de Lacy told me that I can always come to him and tell him... But…” He stumbled with words.

“Did you do that?”

He nodded an affirmative. “I came to Locksley as soon as I learned about our journey, but they told me that Lord de Lacy had left for Pontefract Castle two hours before I came. He will return only in a few days.”

“We have to stop it,” Marian said resolutely. “I am going to stop it.”

Allan looked dumbfounded. “How?”

“I don’t know. I will kill the sheriff if I have to.”

Allan’s eyes grew wider. “What?” He stepped towards her, startled by the anger and determination in her voice and in her eyes. “Maz, have you forgotten what happens if the sheriff dies?”

“No. Prince John’s armies will raze Nottingham to the ground.”

“So leave it!” He turned away and headed for the storeroom under the north corridor of the castle.

Marian followed Allan. “Yes, but if the king is in the Holy Land, then Prince John would think that Vaisey had left, not that he is dead; the prince’s men won’t come here. Nottingham will be safe.”

Allan stopped, looking at her with frantic eyes, as though she had gone mad. “Are you going to save King Richard and England single-handedly?” he deduced, his voice laced with irony.

She was silent for a moment, her mind bouncing onto another train of thought. The future of England was at stake! Her anxiety peaked as she imagined the dead King Richard and, even worse, the dead Robin Hood. No, Robin couldn’t die! Staring at him in the eye, she appealed to him, “Allan, I need your help! You have to help me! Even though Roger de Lacy is away, we have to act – we have to kill the sheriff!”

“No, Maz,” he said firmly; there was a note of disbelief in his voice. He feared what would happen to him if he failed to kill Vaisey. “We cannot kill the sheriff without Roger de Lacy.”

She touched his shoulder. “Have no fear, Allan. We will kill the sheriff and then–”

“Sorry, you are out of your depth. Leave everything to me. I will contact de Lacy, and we will decide how to stop the sheriff,” Allan interrupted her. He began to walk away, intending to go to the storeroom.

Marian smiled cunningly. “No, we have no time to wait. I am sorry.”

Allan frowned and wanted to say something, but no words came out; he was amazed by the look of steely determination plastered all over her face. In the next moment, Marian punched him in the jaw with such strength that he fell backward, dazed, losing his consciousness. She knelt by Allan’s motionless form and took his sword belt. She bounced to her feet and headed to the door, looking around and checking whether the way was clear. Marian made up her mind – she would try to kill the sheriff right now.

“You underestimated me, Allan,” Marian thought as she walked down the corridor. “Damn you, Allan! That's your style to have others solve your problems, this time, Roger de Lacy! If you are a coward who fears to kill the sheriff and save the king, then I will save the king on my own. I will stop Vaisey in England.”

Marian quickly passed through the corridor, heading to the war room. As she heard Guy’s voice calling Allan, she hid in a nearby alcove and watched him pass her. She drew Allan’s sword and hurtled to the doors; she was relieved that she didn’t meet any guards on the way to her destination. When she finally entered the war room, she saw the sheriff swinging the pitcher up and setting it on the map of England where he had marked the lands he would rule and own after King Richard’s death.

 “Wonderful news, my lords! Glorious news!” Vaisey promulgated to himself, sneering and sipping wine. As he placed his goblet over the fireplace, he outstretched his arms and continued dreaming of power the king’s death would bring him. “We, the Black Knights, stand on the verge of greatness.” Laughing, he walked back to the map table. “We didn’t wait for Mohammed to come to the mountain. We took the mountain to Mohammed!” He laughed gaily, his face smug. “We did not wait for the king to land...”

Holding her breath, Marian stood on her tiptoes to get a better view. She placed a hand on the hilt of the sword and strode forward, her footsteps almost noiseless. Feeling her fingers shake, she wrapped them hard around the weapon's hilt. As she stood behind Vaisey, she raised her sword to stab the sheriff from the back.

Unfortunately, the sheriff could see the reflection of an armed Marian swinging the sword at him in the polished silver pitcher. As she lunged at him, the old man ducked and instantly turned to face her, grabbing her sword arm and disarming her. She attempted to struggle with Vaisey, but he swiveled her around and pinned her onto the map table, holding Allan’s sword against her throat.

There was a gloating smile on Vaisey’s face. “ _Checkmate, my leper friend._ ”

Marian managed a fake smile. “Oh, well, a great pity.”

She wasn’t a woman who could accept her defeat without a fight. Not losing any time, she jumped and kicked the sheriff with her legs; Vaisey cried out in pain and cursed. Marian shoved the sword away from the sheriff’s hand with her arm, ignoring the pain in her palm as the blade sliced her skin. Then she landed a fist against the sheriff's jaw, and Vaisey staggered backwards, but he didn’t lose his balance.

The sheriff licked his dry lips, his face turning angry. “You are a good fighter, my little missy.”

“My father wanted me to be able to take care of myself,” Marian announced proudly as she leaned down to take the sword from the floor.

But luck was not at Marian’s side. The sheriff rushed forward and grabbed her both arms, causing her to whimper in pain. Vaisey slapped her across her cheek and pushed her back to the wall, cornering her. But Marian still tried to fight with her captor: she punched the old man in the stomach and tried to escape, but Vaisey grabbed her arms once more; he was physically stronger and wasn’t ready to let her escape.

As the sheriff stood behind Marian, she gripped his forearms tightly, wishing to throw him over her shoulder and then make an elegant somersault; she often did the same when the Nightwatchman had to incapacitate the guards. But she underestimated Vaisey, for he was heavier and stronger than she thought. He punched her in the face and then spun her around to himself. Marian gave a howl of pain.

“ _Again checkmate, my dear missy_ ,” Vaisey said, looking into her cold eyes.

“You are a traitor,” Marian hissed between set teeth.

The sheriff laughed. “I hope you bear no hard feelings for treating you so badly, my little leper.”

Vaisey hit Marian in the face so hard that she tumbled to the floor. Then the sheriff placed his heavy-booted foot onto her chest, looking down at her and smiling menacingly.

“You are a spirited leper,” he said, pressing his boot down onto Marian’s heart.

“You are an animal,” Marian hissed as a wave of impotent rage coursed through her.

“You made two big mistakes, missy,” he growled, pressing the boot tightly.

Marian glared up at the man she hated wholeheartedly. She looked fearlessly into his eyes despite her inward fear and the pain she was experiencing. “At least I tried to stop you.”

“But you failed.”

“You are going to kill the king!” she accused him.

“Yes, I am going to kill the Lionheart,” Vaisey announced with an evil sneer. “Your husband, Gisborne, is also going to kill the king. And not only the king. We will kill Robin Hood as well!”

“Robin won’t allow you to kill King Richard! He will stop you!” Marian declared passionately.

“What is going on here?” a loud female voice came behind Marian and Vaisey. It was Isabella’s voice.

“Oh, this is good! Someone else is joining out little tryst,” the sheriff retorted, licking his lips.

Dressed in a long azure gown that was cut low over her breasts and was embroidered with pearls, Isabella of Gisborne looked as if she were entirely covered by pearls that she seemed like a very creature of a sea. A visibly shocked Isabella glanced between Marian on the floor and the sheriff standing near her and pressing his heavy boot to her chest. Isabella’s expression was lost at first and then evolved into deep shock.

“My God,” Isabella managed to say in a scared voice.

Vaisey took Allan’s sword from the floor and put it to Marian’s throat. Marian’s expression was pained as the pressure from the boot on her breast was enormous, but she didn’t even flinch and whimper.

The sheriff smiled nastily. “Oh, we have a new guest!”

“What is going on? Oh, my God....” Isabella stammered, seeing the sword at Marian’s throat.

The sheriff shrugged and laughed. “Lady Isabella, I am delighted to see you!”

“Please leave Lady Marian! Why are you threatening to her?” Isabella was confused.

“Run, Lady Isabella, run,” Marian moaned the words. Then she whimpered and gasped for air as Vaisey increased the pressure of the cold metal on her throat, almost cutting off the air for her.

“You came where you should be, Lady Isabella! No need to escape!” the sheriff screeched, his voice echoing in the room. “Guards, come here! They tried to kill me! Save your sheriff from the assassins!”

Marian and Isabella shared shocked glances. They were cornered and trapped, hoping that Guy would somehow save them. Isabella was on a special mission in Nottingham. Reduced to a life of degrading humiliation and constant pretense, Isabella lost most of her humanity along the way and developed her cunning strategy to survive; she played her dramatic games with masterly finesse and could wrap around her finger even the most inexperienced conspirator, and, for her, the stakes were even higher than for Guy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you truly enjoyed this chapter and the plot.
> 
> The plot is thickening as Vaisey and Guy are going to depart to the Holy Land soon. There are spoilers from season 2 in this chapter, as well as from season 3 because I brought Isabella into the picture. Isabella plays an important role in this story.
> 
> Guy is not very enthusiastic about killing the king, but he is still loyal to Vaisey, and he also hates Robin Hood, for Robin was pardoned by the king and Guy again lost everything. Surely, Guy wants to take his revenge on Robin, but something is going to happen that will change Guy’s opinion about Robin. In the Holy Land, the triangle of love and hatred will be untangled, and Guy's redemption is one of the most important events in the second half of the long story. I will say nothing more on the matter.
> 
> As it happened on the show, Marian tried to kill the sheriff, but she failed. But we all know that Marian was the Nightwatchman for many years while Robin fought in the Holy Land alongside King Richard. I was surprised that Marian was defeated so easily by the sheriff in the series, and to give credit to Marian’s good fighting skills, I changed this scene in my story. In my version of this episode, she struggled with Vaisey, and it was not easy for the old man to defeat her.
> 
> In the end, Marian and Isabella are trapped after Marian had failed to kill the sheriff and Isabella had become a witness of Marian’s failure by chance. You can probably guess what is going to happen next. As Marian is defeated and cornered together with Isabella, the chapter’s title is “Checkmate.”
> 
> To someone's relief and someone's sorrow, I have to say that chapters 6, 7, 8, and 9 are very dramatic and full of emotions, angst, and mental anguish because the events in the Holy Land are shocking and tragic. But even if someone dies or is seriously wounded, I can assure you that you will understand why I introduced one or another twist, for every twist has its purpose. I am sure that you will understand and, perhaps, even like the outcome of the events in the Holy Land.
> 
> I am an angst writer, and I have to agree with that; I like drama and tragedy, and I thrive when I write dramatic and tragic situations and events. If you want to read something really emotionally gripping and extremely dramatic, then this part of the long epic is exactly what you are looking for. I think this part of the epic is more dramatic than part one; you are warned about that.


	2. A Wedding in Acre

**Chapter 2**

**A Wedding in Acre**

Guy of Gisborne stormed into the war room, surveying the surroundings; Allan trotted after him. They froze in shock as they saw Marian and Isabella struggling with the guards. The sheriff commanded to have Marian and Isabella detained, and the guards obediently tied up their wrists.

“What is going on here?” a confused Guy demanded harshly.

Sheriff Vaisey chucked. “You missed all the fun, Gisborne.”

Allan entered the chamber behind Gisborne. “Blimey, what has she done?” he mumbled to himself, understanding that Marian had failed to kill Vaisey; he was utterly confused as to why Isabella was there.

Vaisey elaborated, “Gisborne, your hypocritical leper wife tried to take my life. And your leper sister heard about our plans.” He smiled nastily. “Now _I have both of your lepers in my custody_.”

Gisborne directed a menacing glare at Marian. Marian glanced down, feeling ashamed of betraying her husband’s trust. Then he veered his ice gaze to Isabella who was biting her lips, her eyes flashing in anger.

Guy flashed a withering look to Allan. ”Allan, did you know something about this?”

An overanxious Allan shook his head. “I didn’t know anything.”

The sheriff cast a sidelong glance at Guy. “Why would he know anything about this?”

“Marian knocked Allan out and took his sword,” Guy reported.

Vaisey stared at Allan in disbelief. “What? How could that happen?”

Allan shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t expecting Marian to act so.”

Marian was abhorred by Allan’s words. “Traitor,” she spat.

“Oh, no, missy, he is a loyal man, unlike you,” the sheriff retorted with a laugh. “Yeah, Gisborne, I am a more skilled swordsman than your leper wife.”

“I didn’t try to kill the sheriff, Guy!” Isabella exclaimed. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked at her brother looking as if she were wrapped in a pall of abject misery. “Guy, you are my brother! You cannot allow him to kill me and your wife! We are your family! Tell the sheriff to release me! I did nothing wrong!”

Vaisey mimicked Isabella, sneering at Guy. “Guy, I didn’t try to kill the sheriff! Guy, I didn’t try to do this… and to do that….” He laughed spitefully, and shrugged his shoulders with an assumption of amazement. “Guy, we are a family! Guy, save me from the sheriff!” He laughed. “What else can she say?”

Marian eyed Isabella’s frightened face, thinking that Guy’s sister was either a good actress or a decent woman. “Let Lady Isabella go. She didn’t try to kill you. She did nothing wrong.”

Guy observed the sheriff, his wife, and his sister. He was shocked and felt trapped at the dead end. He also knew that pleas would only irritate Vaisey. “My lord, what are you going to do now?”

Vaisey laughed. “Gizzy – dizzy – drizzly,” he said in a sing-song tone. “I am not taking the chance that one of your lepers backstabs me again.”

Guy's stunned look was gone, replaced by a confused expression. “What do you mean?”

Vaisey pointed a finger at Guy; an ironic and haughty smile on his face curved his lips. “Gisborne, you are cornered, my boy. Your lepers trapped you, and you are in my power.”

A presageful silence ensued. The immensely pleased sheriff was humming something under his breath, a nefarious plan forming in his mind. Guy was quiet and somber, his eyes darting between Marian and Isabella. Allan looked outwardly calm, but his body was trembling in every muscle. Isabella looked strangely detached, as if he had managed to move out of her body and watch the recent events from a distance. Marian watched Guy in anticipation, endeavoring to mask her disquiet about her reputation but failing.

Sheriff Vaisey laughed venomously. “Gisborne, you are in my power! You are mine!”

“Of course, my lord,” Guy murmured, lowering his head submissively.

Marian wasn’t able to repress her anger anymore. How could Guy allow the old villain to treat him so degradingly? The sheriff never missed an opportunity to disparage his henchman, and her husband forbore resisting and criticizing his master. She glowered at Guy and cried out in a voice laced with resentment and ire, “Guy, you cannot obey him! You are not an effeminate man by any measure! You are a strong man, and I know that you want to build a different life! You–"

“Keep silent, Marian,” Guy growled, his eyes twin blazes of blue flame. He didn’t wish to infuriate the sheriff more, and he was also getting more exasperated because she had touched on such a sore subject in public. He was in a frenzy; nevertheless, he had to admit to himself that, in a way, he rather enjoyed that Marian showed resistance to the sheriff.

Vaisey leered at Guy. “Gizzy, your leper wife is making you so awfully meek and so utterly obedient that you have become a lovesick idiot chasing after a dream that might never come true." He stilled for a moment; he rested his gaze on Marian’s face and sniggered, then looked back at Guy. “Gisborne, are you sure that she loves you, my boy? Or is your marriage bed a little crowded with the ghost of the illustrious Robin Hood because she often takes a walk down the memory lane when you kiss and caress her? Do you believe a woman can truly love a man if she probably betrays you in her mind?”

Vaisey's mortifying speech rendered everyone in a state of shock, making them feel as if a thunderbolt had knocked them off balance. A tenebrous silence ensued, threatening to lengthen in a lifetime.

Guy was staring at Marian with so much anger in his eyes that she shrank away from him, as if he were some kind of minor horror. His wrath was like a burning flaming fire, and Marian was convinced that he would have incinerated her if she were near him right now. The silent question was in their eyes: why did Vaisey speak about Robin and did he know anything about her affair with the outlaw? Marian also wondered whether her husband did really have a hunch about her mental infidelity.

The guards stood thunderstruck and amazed, looking at Guy with wide eyes and exerting themselves not to dissolve into giggles. They had no idea whether the sheriff’s insults were groundless or not, but each of them was aware that Marian had been betrothed to Robin several years ago.

Marian looked aghast, and all the color drained out of her face. Isabella was observing Marian with attentive curiosity, her mind processing the implications of the sheriff’s statement as she tried hard to guess whether Vaisey’s defamatory allegation as to Marian’s feelings to Robin was at least half-true.

Vaisey gave Guy a shove, not a hard one, but hard enough to make him stumble backwards. Guy managed to keep his footing and told his master, “My lord, I…” His voice failed him.

Gazing at Guy with scorn, the sheriff embarked on a new round of vilifying Guy and, this time, Marian as well. “Gisborne, you are a buffoon and a spineless man because you have failed to tame your unruly wife! If you were not a constant source of amusement for me and were not a skilled swordsman, I probably wouldn’t have retained in my service!” He made a step to Guy and gave Guy another shove. “Gizzy, go to your viperous wife! She recoiled from you as if you were not her husband but a leper!”

Guy felt as if the sheriff were impelling him to lick the dust from his boots. The heat rose to his cheeks that were burning with shame. “My lord, please let’s finish this conversation!”

Marian’s anger was bubbling over in her. She was breathing deeply and had a look of pure hatred on her face. “Lord Vaisey, you are having fun by making a mockery out of Guy and me! You cannot–”

Vaisey cut her off sharply. “Silence, woman!” he thundered, flashing a withering look in her direction. He veered his gaze to Guy and shook his head. “No amount of beseeching on your part can make me stop talking sense into you, Gisborne! You have become as worthless as a pathetic woman!”

“My lord, please–” Guy began but was interrupted.

“I can do what I want, Gizzy! I am the ruler of Nottingham!” The sheriff sniggered and gazed back at Marian. He quipped, “Our high and mighty Lady Marian, so proud of her beneficence with the peasants, is a worthless leper despite the façade of goodness.” He looked back at Guy. “Our holy lady has forgotten important things that make you a hapless husband, Gisborne! Your leper wife must be unseen and unheard! She must breed your heirs like a horse and nurse them up! She must manage the household! She must cater to your whims and crawl before you like a reptile if she displeases you!” He paused and laughed outright, his gaze going back and forth between Marian and Isabella. "A woman's function is to support and service men. Never permit women to teach or dictate to men! Dominance and power are attributed only to men!"

Eventually, Isabella couldn’t contain her anger. “You have the gall to insult all women! You are–“

Vaisey heckled her and spoke. “Lady Isabella, you are as rambunctious as young spirited colts that in their charming antics can stir up trouble! But you can be domesticated like these colts!” His gazed flitted to Guy. “Gisborne, you have been fishing in troubled waters for a long time by indulging your lepers beyond normal bounds and common sense. You have been used as a wet rug by your leper wife and your leper sister. And I begin to fear that you could have become completely incompetent and soft in the head, for you have been growing weaker every day. I demand that you change, Guy.”

Marian's anger was so strong and so implacable that she couldn't remain silent. “Lord Vaisey, you are behaving shockingly!” she fumed. “Why do you always humiliate Guy? Who gave you the right to insult Guy’s sister and me? You are not entitled to say these disgusting things about us!”

As his eyes locked with Marian’s, Guy discerned the cold determination and fury in her eyes. He gave her a hard glare, warning her that she had crossed a line. Allan helplessly stared at Marian, his gaze pleading her to be silent. Isabella was seething with rage.

Vaisey's lips compressed in a tight line, his visage imbued with displeasure. “Gisborne, I warned you to be stricter with your lepers. You didn’t listen, and now you are in trouble,” he said seriously, without a hint of mockery. “Gizzy, tell me how can a husband forget that he is the lord of his wife? You must teach her a good lesson. Punish her for her naughtiness, if you are a man, not her puppet. Hit her, whip her, have her whipped, or retaliate in any way, but she should know her place!”

Marian glanced at Guy; her features softened, and now her eyes were appealing to her husband to defend her. “Guy, don’t let him–”

Guy interrupted his wife. “Enough, Marian! Be quiet!”

“Marian, please calm down,” Allan admonished, fearing Vaisey’s fury. He flinched at Marian’s fierce gaze she gave him in response.

"It is impossible to control yourself when you are so humiliated," Isabella muttered.

The sheriff laughed perniciously. “Blah-di-blah-di-blah! Your lepers still have the inclination to defy you, Gizzy! They have lost respect for you, and you have become a formless clay that can be sculpted by the will of a leper! How terrible, my friend! How awful it is to for a man of your station!” he taunted. He paused and narrowed his eyes at his henchman; then he spoke in a preaching manner. “But I am always ready to help you, my boy! We will teach her a lesson – we will punish them!" His gaze slid to Marian. “Missy, you must have learned to keep your mouth shut! You have created enough problems for Gisborne and yourself!”

At the moment, Guy hated the sheriff with all his heart, wishing to rebel against his master. But Marian’s latest foolish actions, together with Isabella’s unexpected interference, cornered him, and now he was bereft of all the hope to ever break from Vaisey; now he had to kill the king to save his wife and his sister. Guy also needed Vaisey as Robin again had the upper hand in their struggle.

Guy’s eyes met Vaisey’s eyes that were alight with cold disdain. Vaisey always gave him a similar look when he was disappointed in him.

Guy forced a smile despite the insult. “My lord, we humbly apologize if we made you peeved. Marian will never do it again; I will take care of that.”

Marian felt betrayed; her eyes shoot daggers at Guy. Her first instinct was to punch him in the face as hard to get some of that anger out of her system; then she recalled that she was held by several guards. She let out a distressed sigh and told her husband, “Guy, you–”

“Silence, Marian,” Guy articulated between gritted teeth. "Enough was said and done.”

Allan’s eyes oscillated between Marian and Guy. Unlike Marian, he realized that Guy’s behavior had to be rather submissive in order not to infuriate the sheriff.

Vaisey scoffed. “Quite enough, for this leper tried to kill me."

“What is going to happen now?” Guy needed to know.

“Gisborne, your two lepers are coming with us to the Holy Land,” the sheriff answered bluntly.

Isabella resumed struggling furiously, but the guards held her hands back. “I don’t want to go to the Holy Land! I did nothing wrong! Release me! You have no right to detain me!”

“You brought this upon yourself, Isabella,” Guy fired back. “You should have stayed with your husband.”

“I hate you, Guy of Gisborne!” Isabella roared. Memories circled her mind like debris: the night of the fire at Gisborne Manor, the eviction and destitution she and Guy had faced, and the travails she had experienced in her marriage. Life imparted a great deal of pain to her heart and soul, and that pain morphed into unabated hatred for her brother and for all men. Anger churned inside her and erupted at last. “You can have no idea how much I hate you! I covet to see you dead, and I will hate you forever!”

“What a spirited and pretty youngest Gisborne!” Vaisey assessed in real appreciation. “Gisborne, teach your beloved sister a lesson. She is also a leper!”

“You are despicable!” Isabella hissed.

Marian looked sharply at Gisborne. “Will you do something, husband?”

Guy looked into her eyes, trying to tell her that he would protect her with the hope that she would understand him. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted sincerely.

Isabella shot Guy a vicious look. “Bloody fool,” she spat.

Vaisey rolled his eyes. “Yes, Gizzy is an idiot who cannot handle his leper family! And now I am taking his lepers to the Holy Land!” He snickered. “I have never been there before. They say that the weather is wonderful there, and soon we will see the wonders of the mysterious Eastern land. Gisborne was there and said that it was warm in December.”

“Let go of me!” Isabella cried out. “Let go of me! I will scream if you don't release me!”

“Lady Isabella, save your breath,” Marian recommended.

Vaisey’s face twisted into a large sardonic grin. “Scream if you want, Isabella.” He turned to Marian. “And you, my little missy, say right things for the first time today.” Laughing maliciously, he instructed, “Guards, take the prisoners to the dungeons. They will spend half of the night there. We will leave at dawn.”

“My lord, I don’t think that–” Guy began.

The sheriff cut his henchman off. “Gizzy, you cannot ask me anything. If you fail me again, you know who will pay for your failure. You should pray that we kill the king this time.”

Guy nodded, but a small frown still worked its way up to his forehead. “I will do everything I must.”

Vaisey came to Guy and patted his shoulder. “Good, Gisborne, good.”

Sheriff Vaisey laughed at Guy and began humming something to himself. As Marian and Isabella were taken out of the room, the sheriff resumed laughing as he strode up and down the room. A storm surge of humiliation was racing toward Guy, and when the sheriff’s evil and rapacious heart was satisfied, he sent Guy an airy kiss and stomped out of the war room.

 “Listen, Guy, Guy,” Allan began. “The Holy Land… Is this what I think it is? Are we killing the king?”

Gisborne narrowed his eyes at Allan. “You are a part of the inner sanctum now. You should be honored.”

“No, no. I am. But we have to go to the Holy Land,” Allan lamented.

“Our ultimate mission is to kill King Richard and it carries the ultimate prize.” Guy crossed the room and settled in a chair. “It is absolute power.”

“Well, yeah, for you and the sheriff.”

“And you, Allan,” Guy assured him. “The sheriff and Prince John will reward me for my loyalty. And then your loyalty will be rewarded with land and a title; I will see to that.”

A surprised Allan asked, “What, you mean something like a lordship or something?”

Guy nodded. “Yes, Allan. You will be a lord of a manor. You will be rich.”

“And I will have power?” another question followed.

“Yes, you will.”

“Guy, but killing the king… it is very bold… and outrageous.”

Guy broke into a scornful laugh. “Don’t tell me that Hood taught you lessons about kings and power.”

“No, Guy, he didn’t.”

“Allan, you must remember one important thing.” The gravity of Guy’s voice emphasized the importance of the message he was going to convey. “Power is not given by God, and kings are usual people. Power is earned by the most capable, most cunning, and most intelligent people.”

“And you and I are the most capable men? Not pawns?” Allan was genuinely interested what Guy thought. He didn’t believe that Vaisey would parcel out power with Guy if he had killed the king.

“A pawn can take a crown,” Guy declared emphatically.

Allan pondered over the possibility, sighing deeply. There was no way he could betray Robin again: stabbing Robin in the back once more meant the betrayal of King Richard, England, his friends, and his own heart. He hoped that King Richard would reward him for what he was going to do. Then his mind drifted back to the two captive women. “What will happen to Marian and Lady Isabella?”

Guy averted his eyes. “When the king is dead, the sheriff will release Marian and Isabella to my custody.”

Allan already knew what to do. He wasn’t so sure that Vaisey would release Marian, not after the attempt on his life. As darkness blanketed the town, Allan managed to sneak into the dungeons and informed Marian that he was off to Pontefract; she smiled at him and admonished him to leave the castle before dawn. In an hour, Allan was swiftly riding along the Great North Road, hoping that Roger de Lacy didn’t leave for one of his many other estates. Although he wore a warm wool riding cloak, Allan shivered from the cold; he urged his horse to ride faster, wishing to get to de Lacy’s castle as quickly as possible.

At sunrise, Marian and Isabella were both shackled and gagged, and the guards dragged them to the carriage. The ladies didn’t resist at all, silently enduring the humiliation. Guy looked for Allan but failed to find him; it was the sheriff who had noticed Allan’s absence before Guy did.

The sheriff stopped near Guy. “Guy, don’t be too disappointed.”

Guy’s face betrayed his curiosity. “What?”

Vaisey nearly sang, “Your boy, Allan. He doesn’t love you anymore. He ran away. He lost his nerve.”

“I will find him,” Guy said, his ire rising.

Vaisey shook his head. “No, no. Let him go. We don’t need him, hmm? It is better this way. Just us.”

Gisborne looked away. “As you wish.”

After several hours of the non-stop ride, Allan finally saw the outlines of Pontefract Castle, one of the most impressive castles he had ever seen, with its thick walls, its semi-circular towers of various heights, and its several inner and outer baileys. It was long past midday when he rode through the open main gate and crossed the vast, walled courtyard. Allan was told to wait in the enormous curtained hall, but soon de Lacy came: standing at the doorway, Roger regarded Allan, sensing the other man’s uneasiness, and dismissed the servants hastily. De Lady looked smart in his dark blue luxurious tunic with silver embroidery on the sleeves and on the front, his hand resting on the hilt of his scimitar.

 “Sir Roger! Sir Roger!” Allan called.

“Simply Roger,” Roger de Lacy corrected. “Why are you here, Allan? Important matters?”

Nervousness took hold of Allan, and he stammered, “Yeah, the sheriff and Gisborne… they… are…”

Roger looked alarmed. “What?”

“King Richard’s life is in danger. The sheriff has already left for Portsmouth.”

Roger’s gaze turned sharp. “When?”

“They left Nottingham at dawn today,” Allan replied.

“Follow me,” Roger instructed Allan. He didn’t waste any time and, crossing the chamber in a few swift strides, opened the heavy oak door and called, “Pack my things! I am leaving in half an hour!” He mounted the stairs and opened the door of the study. He advanced forward and hastened to the table. He began searching for something among the pile of parchments, muttering something in Norman-French to himself.

“Oh,” Allan breathed.

Roger eyed him suspiciously. “What else happened in Nottingham?”

“Marian and Isabella were taken hostage,” Allan informed tensely.

“Why?” Roger de Lacy was searching for the papers, scanning every parchment with his eyes.

“Marian tried to kill the sheriff in order to stop him.”

“Lady Gisborne?” Roger put down a heap of the parchments; then he turned to Allan.

“Yes.”

“Good heavens!” de Lacy snapped in a voice that had suddenly grown slightly hoarse. “What a pretty little fool! She is a woman! She should do her embroidery instead of playing a heroine!”

Allan chuckled. “Oh, she is an unusual lady, not quite a typical one. She is not playing a heroine – she is being herself!”

“Not a typical?” de Lacy arched a brow.

Allan was silent for a moment. Could he divulge Marian’s secret to de Lacy? Roger was Robin's friend, and he could already know many things; he also needed to explain why Marian had tried to kill the sheriff.  “She is a very bold and fearless lady! She helping the people long before Robin's return from the Crusade as the Nightwatchman,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

A look of incredibility was plastered across Roger’s face. "How incredible it sounds, Allan!”

“Yeah, she had a good reason to kill the sheriff! However, I think she was overconfident of herself when she tried to save England on her own!”

“She did a crazy thing!” de Lacy exclaimed as he rummaged among the parchments, searching for the travel documents that would guarantee the safe passage to Outremer.

“I told her the same.”

“Now I have everything we will need for our journey to the Holy Land,” de Lacy jumped to a different topic, a satisfied smile lighting his face as he had found what he needed.

Allan’s mouth dropped open. “Are you gonna take me with you?”

Roger gave him a sidelong glance. “Of course.”

“Hey, my things, Roger…”

“You will take something from my clothes. I am sure you took nothing with you.”

“No, I have nothing. I couldn’t attract attention to myself when I left.”

“Good.” Then de Lacy reached the desk and opened one of the drawers; he extracted two large purses with coins and weighted them in his hands. “We have enough money and all the necessary documents for our journey.” He frowned. “I took care of everything in advance, but I couldn’t forestall the timing.”

Allan sighed. “I am worried that we will be some time behind them."

“I will think of something,” de Lacy assured as he started loading his wallet with golden coins.

Allan smiled; his companion’s words reminded him of Robin. “I trust you will.”

De Lacy huffed. “I drafted the papers for my second-in-command, whom I trust, to represent my own interests and Robin’s interests in case I have to leave England again. It seems I envisaged danger.”

“Danger always smells,” Allan tried to jest.

“And who is Isabella?” Roger asked, without emotion.

“Gisborne’s sister, Lady Isabella of Gisborne.”

Roger de Lacy froze, holding the purse with coins in his hands. His fists clenched in a visible effort not to drive them in a nearby desk. “Lady Isabella of Gisborne, also known as Lady Isabella of Shrewsbury, is Prince John’s protégé, if I am not misinformed.”

Allan looked abashed. “How… how do you know?”

“Two months ago, I stayed at Prince John’s court in London for a few days. I read King Richard’s proclamations of Robin’s pardon there. By chance, I met Lady Isabella of Gisborne at court, and she was rather close to Prince John, batting her eyes at him and always smiling seductively.”

“Wait! I thought that Lady Amicia de Beaumont is Prince John’s mistress,” Allan pointed out, confused.

“Prince John has many mistresses,” de Lacy said, smiling wryly. “I think Isabella of Gisborne is that mysterious Isabella whom he visited in secret and whose name he kept secret for so long.”

“Oh, I see.” Allan blinked. “I remember rumors about mysterious Isabella.”

“Well, you see. She must be Isabella of Gisborne.”

“But why did the prince keep their relationship secret?”

Roger shrugged. “I am not Prince John’s mind reader, but there must be a reason.”

“I don’t like it. It smells bad.”

“It does smell very bad,” Roger assessed. “Tell me what she was doing in Nottingham.”

“She arrived several days ago. Guy said that she needed Guy’s protection. I know nothing else.”

“Well, I don’t believe in coincidences. It seems that it is Prince John’s another plot to kill the king. Prince John is a resourceful man, and he can use Isabella.”

Allan looked worried. “Yeah, someone is craftier than Vaisey.”

“Don’t be afraid. We will win,” de Lacy said soothingly.

Allan heaved a sigh. “I do hope so.”

“Help me and take it, Allan. I cannot carry everything alone.” Roger gave Allan one of the heavy purses with the funds for their journey. Then he marched to the door, motioning Allan to follow him. “Let’s go. I will say goodbye to my wife, and then we will depart. I only need to write a letter.”

Allan’s brows shot up. “Are you married?”

“Why should I not be?” Roger laughed outright. “Because I am too young?”

“Well, yes,” Allan supplied, feeling embarrassed.

“I married Lady Maud in the Holy Land. She was one of Queen Berengaria’s ladies-in-waiting. I married not because I didn’t enjoy the life of a bachelor, but because my affair with her trapped me – I have a child, a small son. I don’t regret that I married Maud because she is a good and gentle woman, and she loves me.”

“I am sorry… that I asked, Roger.”

“It is fine.”

Roger de Lacy quickly wrote a short message for King Richard on the parchment. He came to the adjacent room, where he kept the cage with a Sultan-prized bird. He intended to send the bird with his message to Acre so that the king knew that Vaisey was traveling to the Holy Land.

What Roger discovered in the room made his blood run cold. Allan gasped for air as he stood behind Roger. Roger’s steward was holding the dead bird in his right hand after he had twisted its neck. The worst happened – Roger’s quickest method to contact the king was now destroyed.

The steward gaped in shock. “Sir Roger, I… I…”

De Lacy was silent for a brief moment, looking into the traitor's eyes. "It is a smart and careful move for Prince John's spy." He ripped his scimitar from the scabbard. "I am going to the Holy Land in any case." He approached the terrified man and grabbed his shoulders. Then he swung his scimitar in a deadly arc and sliced the man’s throat. De Lacy wiped the blade with the steward’s tunic, and stepped aside. Looking at the dead man with furious eyes, he sheathed his sword.

 “Roger, you killed him,” Allan breathed, resting his eyes on the steward’s lifeless body.

“Traitors cannot be allowed to live,” de Lacy’s metallic voice boomed.

Allan shuddered inwardly. “Oh, Roger… I…” His voice quivered with fear.

“Allan, calm down – I am not going to kill you and I have nothing against you,” Roger assuaged his concerns in most amicable tones. “I mean a different sort of traitors. You were an unwilling informant, while my steward betrayed me to Prince John in the situation when the king’s life is in peril.” He quickly moved through the room, crushing furniture and other exposed items. “You were unable to kill the king, and you came here. And you did the right thing that you warned me.”

Allan’s eyes were glued to the bird. “This bird is like… Lardner.”

“I know it very well.”

“Does the king use them often, Roger?”

De Lacy paused and gave Allan a hard glare. “At times, curiosity is not a virtue,” he gritted out as he examined the room. “I am angry! My steward was Prince John’s spy!” He broke off with a foul curse as he opened the drawers of the desk and extracted parchments from there, throwing them on the floor. “I must have been daft if I didn’t figure out it before. Now I cannot contact the king.”

Allan was bewildered. “What are you doing?”

Roger surveyed the mess in the chamber. “My steward is dead, and it is better if it looks like someone tried to rob me. I am Constable of Chester and captain of the third guard of King Richard’s own forces; nothing will ever happen to me for any murder, but I prefer to use a clever tactic.”

A muscle worked in Allan’s jaw. “Oh, it is so… unbelievable.”

“Hush, Allan. We are leaving now. We must be in Dover in four days and cross the English Channel then.” Roger raced down the spiral staircase at a dangerous speed.

“Why in Dover?”Allan inquired, following Roger. “The sheriff went to Portsmouth!”

As he descended the stairs, de Lacy thought of their journey. “Does the sheriff plan to travel through the continent and then sail to Acre? Or does he take a direct route from Portsmouth to Acre?”

Allan was barely able to keep the pace at which Roger chose to proceed. “Vaisey planned to cross the English Channel. He planned the journey in advance and would travel through France.”

“Good news. Dover faces Flanders across the narrowest part of the Channel,” de Lacy explained. “We will sail from Dover to Calais because it is the quickest way to get to the continent. We will take the inland route through Flanders, France, and Duchy of Toulouse. We will sail to Acre from Marseilles.”

“Oh, how complicated!” Allan never traveled much, and he was tempted to try.

“We have to hurry. Be ready for a long and dangerous trip.”

“I am ready,” Allan said, following Roger step by step.

“Hurry up. We have no time,” de Lacy demanded, quickening his footsteps.

“I am coming,” Allan muttered breathlessly; he was barely able to catch up with de Lacy’s speed.

De Lacy showered and looked at the other man as if seeing all his secrets. “Now the situation is very serious, for I cannot warn the king about the sheriff’s plots.” Then he smiled. “But we will save the king.”

In the great hall, they met a lovely, young, hazel-eyed blonde hair who was so tall that her height seemed disproportionate as compared to her very slender figure. She was Lady Maude de Claire, the Baroness of Pontefract. Roger kissed his wife’s cheek and murmured something into her ear. Allan heard Roger say that he would be absent for many months and that he had been summoned to Normandy on an errand. Allan scoffed at the thought that Roger kept his wife in the dark.

When they arrived in the stables, three horses were already saddled; de Lacy’s squire would travel with them. They loaded two large bags with Roger’s things on the squire’s horse. Allan carried two purses with coins and de Lacy had a leather wallet attached to the girdle of his tunic. They said farewells, mounted, and set off at full gallop, going to Dover to sail for Calais and then cross France for their journey to Acre.

§§§

Robin had awoken at dawn and disguised himself as a Saracen, intending to continue his reconnaissance today. He left the Crusaders’ camp just as the city of Acre awakened from its misty sleep into daylight and the sky changed from dark to rosy glow. The morning sun brightened and reddened the sky, until a wedge of brilliant orange spread across the horizon. The horizon, ever-widening and vast, lay above the expanse of the blue sea, and the sandy dunes, surrounding Acre, welcomed a new day.

Robin was strolling through a maze of streets buzzing with activity and a cacophony of voices speaking in different languages. Running his eyes over the crowded streets, the coastline, and the port, Robin felt as if he were in a hive of the people hurrying here and there within the walls of the city. The port was overcrowded with ships bearing colors of countries and free cities from all over the Mediterranean Sea. Hundreds of sailors, traders, and longshoremen swarmed over the docks, loading and unloading cargo; every trade and operation were overseen by the Crusaders who controlled Acre. Cloth, wines, food, gold, silver, ivory, and other more precious things were delivered in the city every hour.

He saw many ships in the harbor. The city of Acre was an outlet for the trade routes of the Orient and the meeting point between the East and the West. Acre possessed the only safe harbor in Palestine, and travelers preferred to land there rather than at Jaffa with its open roadstead; there had been many unfortunate accidents in Jaffa before Acre was captured by the Crusaders. Ships from Venice, Genoa, Pisa, Cyprus, Marseilles, and Constantinople cast anchors in the harbor.

Robin spent an hour at the central market in Acre. He looked around, thinking that the market was thriving, for the place was overcrowded with merchants and local venders. Nobody knew Robin’s true identity, but everyone could tell at first glance that he was a rich man because of his fine manners and his luxurious Arabic clothes. Thus, Robin avoided direct eye contact, waving his head and signaling them that he would be talking to them if he found something interesting among all the goods. Robin found his walk in the market tiresome and hurried to leave, heading to the Genoese, Pisan, and Venetian quarters.

As he left the merchant quarter, Robin found himself in the central street of Acre that led to the harbor. The sun climbed higher and bore down on people’s heads and shoulders. Lifting his face, he wiped the sweat from his brow, cursing the heat that was at full blast. In spite of having spent many years in Outremer, Robin was still astonished that the townspeople seemed to be unaffected by the suffocating heat, and the streets and marketplaces were thronged with folks.

Robin was amazed that many king’s men considered him an intermediary between King Richard and Saladin in peace negotiations. Robin felt his heart pounding in delight and pride that he was so loved and so admired by Christian warriors extolled his virtues like something divine. He scarcely repressed a laugh at the thought that the disguised Captain Locksley was among them and heard them praise him.

“Robin of Locksley killed Grand Master de Sablé in a long and dangerous duel. He established an alliance with the Hashashin,” one of the Knights Templar laded Robin.

“I have heard that Prince Malik, Saladin’s nephew, joined this alliance,” another Knight Templar added.

The first knight nodded. “It is true. Prince Malik supported the alliance between the Hashashin and King Richard. It means that peace negotiations with Saladin will start soon.”

The oldest Knight Templar, who had just approached the group, blessed himself with the cross. “If God is willing, peace will reign in the Holy Land. _Sir Robin of Locksley will bring peace in these lands_!”

“We need peace. This war cannot continue forever,” another warrior assented. “God bless King Richard and his chief generals who are working for peace! This war must be finished!”

Robin stopped near the pottery shop and leaned against the corner of the building. The white-bearded Saracen, the owner of the shop, muttered something unintelligible in Arabic and then scowled at the intruder, but Robin threw him a golden coin, laughing. The old Saracen laughed back and didn't chase Robin away. During the next few minutes, Robin simply stood there, enjoying the picturesque views of the port of Acre and watching people as they went about their lives.

He walked down the main street surrounded by a row of shops that sold clay figurines and ampoules for holy water, which were popular souvenirs for pilgrims. He turned around the corner and stalked towards the old part of the city, where the port and fort were located.

Robin stopped at the corner of the building, looking across the narrow, rocky street. There was a flower shop, where each shelf was loaded with various flowers, from violets of violet, blue, and white colors to cooper-colored, red, and white roses. At the same time, a serving girl was carrying baskets of flowers to the shop, and another one was passing by them. All of them were not Saracens, most likely Greek or Cypriots; there were many merchants of various nationalities in Acre.

Robin watched a small, scrawny man grab the baskets from the girls. “You should be more careful with the flowers,” he barked.

Robin knew the Greek language and understood their conversation. He realized that the small man was the owner of the flower shop as the man scolded his assistants for being clumsy and not careful with the rare flowers which had undoubtedly been brought to Acre.

"These flowers are fresh and beautiful. Nothing will happen to them,” one of the girls joined the conversation, trying to show as little annoyance as possible.

“Be very careful with these flowers!” the old man bellowed. “We should deliver these flowers to the Citadel of Acre tomorrow. Monsieur Henry de Champagne will be displeased if you damage them.”

One of the girls smiled dreamily. “Ah, Sir Robin of Locksley is going to have a great wedding! I have heard that Captain Locksley is a very handsome hero! I would want to be his fiancée!”

The second girl giggled. “This wedding is a sensational event in Acre. I want to look at the wedding, but I am sure that the king’s guards won’t allow the populace to attend.”

“And even to come close to the bride and bridegroom,” another girl added with a sigh of regret.

“Shut up, you idlers! I will fire you if you don’t work well!” the shop owner threatened.

Robin laughed a deep laugh, for it was both strange and hilarious to hear about his own wedding from someone else in the city. The shop owner and his assistants knit their brows in confusion, staring at the unknown Saracen. Without so much as a second glance, Robin swiveled and walked away. He couldn’t have stayed and talked to these people, for he was on the mission; but at least now he knew what preparations were made for his wedding by King Richard and Count Henry de Champagne.

Robin wandered in the old part of Acre for many hours. He stopped at crossroads between two streets. Looking around and contemplating his surroundings, he was seized by the desire to go to the gardens of one of rich Arabian houses and, if possible, to talk to the natives, to see them as they were and once again re-assure himself that they were nothing more than usual people, not demons that Christians had to eliminate from earth. Yet, he couldn’t give away his disguise.

Praying that he would come across Vaisey’s accomplices again, Robin climbed the hill, nodding at the Muslims and avoiding lingering eye contact. He made the way to the place where he had last met Nasir and Karim and wandered around for at least an hour. He continued searching for any trace of the Saracens conspirators until the sun exploded in a red and orange blaze. It was Carter’s turn to patrol the area; after changing his clothes in the secret building of the king’s men in the Genoese quarter, Robin met with Carter.

By the time Robin returned to the camp, the sun had already sunk. He stood near the entrance to the royal tent, waiting to be invited for an audience with his liege. In the next moment, King Richard swept out of the tent, his expression relieved that his favorite knight had returned unharmed. Even in the darkness, the king looked like a powerful warrior who instilled both fascination and terror into the hearts of his foes and led his men to great victories on the battlefields of Outremer and the Angevin Empire.

“My liege,” Robin greeted the king, bowing deeply to him.

The king eyed Robin. “Do you have any news today?”

Robin looked down for a moment, as if he were mustering the courage to speak, before lifting his gaze to Richard. “Unfortunately, we still have no news, sire.”

Sighing deeply, Richard offered, “Let’s go inside.”

As they entered the royal tent, Richard gestured Robin to sit down onto multicolored silk pillows. The king called Roger de Tosny and issued an order to go search the area where Nasir and Karim had been discovered. As soon as de Tosny exited, Richard seated himself onto the pile of pillows in front of Robin.

In the feeble light of one flickering torch in the tent, Richard watched Robin’s features and met Robin’s eyes that were dark and clear. “So you found nothing today, Robin,” the king began softly.

“We know nothing about Nasir and Karim,” Robin confirmed. A welling sadness suffused through him. “Maybe Carter will find something tonight.”

“And you are sad because of that?”

It was true: Robin was very worried and depressed. The uncertainty was unnerving him, especially the absence of any news from King Richard’s spies in the Angevin Empire and from Roger de Lacy. The current moment of quietude was the lull before the storm, and Robin feared what that storm would bring. “I wish we found Karim or Nasir or them both.” He sighed, his heart thundering in his chest. “Our spies told us that there are more than fifteen Karims and not even one Nasir in the area where we discovered those two men that night.” He made a helpless gesture. “We didn’t even see their faces!”

“And there is the spy in our entourage,” Richard said thoughtfully.

“And this traitor is someone very close to you, milord.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Robin sighed. “Last week, I set four traps for this spy, but none of them worked.”

“It means that this man is very clever.”

Anger clouded Robin’s features; he clenched his fists. “This man is a wretched traitor bought by the Black Knights! I want to kill him myself, with my bare hands – to kill him for you, sire!”

The king gave his captain a loving smile; he had always been impressed and flattered by Robin’s unconditional loyalty. “Calm down, Robin. We will find this traitor, and then he will be punished.”

“God help us! We must find him!”

“Even if the reconnaissance is unsuccessful, we know that now neither Sheriff Vaisey nor Guy of Gisborne is in Acre," the king speculated, furrowing his brows. “We don’t know much about Vaisey’s Muslim accomplices, but we are aware that they definitely appear in Acre from time to time, even if they don’t have a secret hideout in the city.”

“Sire, please permit me to start searching for Nasir and Karim in nearby villages,” Robin requested.

“Roger de Tosny will deal with that,” Richard said authoritatively.

“But, sire, please permit me–”          

Shaking his head, Richard smiled at his captain. “No, Robin. I need you always by my side.” He smiled warmly at the younger man, and Robin found himself smiling back. “Besides, the date of your wedding is approaching, and you have many other things to worry about.”

“Yes.” Robin lowered his eyes, a little embarrassed by the reference to his wedding. “Regardless of what I have to do, _my private interests are less important than those of my king and my country_.”

Surveying Robin for a moment, the lion laughed heartily. “This is the Robin I love and admire.”

The praise pleased Robin’s vanity. “Thank you, milord.”

The lion smiled wryly. “But why are you embarrassed when I mention your wedding to my cousin, my dear Earl of Huntingdon?” He narrowed his eyes like a sly fox. “Are you so much unwilling to wed Melisende? Or does the vibrant beauty of my cousin take away the breath of my brave captain?”

The wicked gleam flickered in Robin’s eyes, which the king didn’t miss. “Beauty is the power that charms lovers and fiancés but terrifies husbands.” He grinned widely. “I wonder what your cousin’s beauty will do to me after the wedding. But if I am not completely charmed, I will be able to breathe easier.”

A laughing Richard stood up. “Robin, you are a master of wit!”

Robin also got to his feet. “Well, I am most definitely not boring and predictable."

“It is certainly not your case, Robin.” The king chuckled. “Now we should get ready and go to Acre before you charm me so much that I cannot breathe and you will have to fetch a doctor for me.”

That evening, Count Henry de Champagne welcomed eagerly King Richard and Robin at the party that the king ordered to organize in honor of Robin’s upcoming marriage. The guests were anxious to hear more about the courtship and the marriage of the king’s cousin to the Earl of Huntingdon.

After the dinner, Melisende and Robin remained alone in the study; the king and Count de Champagne played cards. As they stood near the window overlooking the coastline, the sea, and the green, lush garden, they stared at each other as if they were mesmerized. Robin granted his bride a sincere, charming smile, and she smiled at him with her mysterious, besmirching smile.

Robin’s marriage became a sensational event in Outremer. King Richard proclaimed that the wedding day would be unique and unforgettable. The wedding ceremony didn’t promise to be similar to all other weddings in the Angevin Empire at least because it would take place in Acre, in the proximity of the desert, lovely beaches, and the sea. The ceremony was planned to be a grand event, but yet much more original than marriages of the other members of the Plantagenet royal house.

“Trust me, Robin, that we will produce a great pageantry for your wedding,” King Richard assured Robin. “I will not tolerate any protests from you, my friend.”

Robin asked the King of England to make his wedding a private affair in a small chapel in one of the central districts of Acre, but Richard shook his head in disagreement and said that they would be moving in a grand procession through the city and then the wedding would take place in the most important cathedral in Acre. Robin agreed with the king, understanding that his pleas to do otherwise would be rejected even if he sank to his knees and begged Richard.

And yet, Melisende’s relationship with Robin was somewhat extraordinary. They teased and mocked each other: he shot at her many witty barbs, and she riposted, grinning at him. They laughed together because Robin’s laughter was infectious and her melodic laughter was contagious as well. They talked about royal court in Poitiers, the art of troubadours, romantic poetry, literature, wars, politics, and dreams. They even talked about stars and invisible worlds, and they both were astonished that they touched on such topics. They both felt comfortable together, and they were brutally honest with one another.

Melisende was accustomed to official courtship that she had with her two previous betrotheds. Her previous encounters with men had all ended with her rejection: she shot at them poisonous barbs, made them swallow humiliation and leave with a squelched dignity. Few people could vie with her extraordinary sense of wit. Melisende was a goddess of beauty unattainable for any mortal; only the Earl of Huntingdon and the Earl of Leicester managed to pierce her defenses insidiously.

Robin tore his gaze from Melisende and walked over to the chest of drawers. He opened one of the drawers and extracted something wrapped in a large velvet cloth. He headed to Melisende, stopped near her, and made a deep bow to her, smiling at her wryly. Then he handed the wrapped object to her.

Melisende looked at him in amazement. “What is that, Robin?”

Robin chuckled. “Open it and have a look.”

She unfolded the object. Inside there was a magnificent oval-cut amethysts and diamonds jewelry set consisting of a stunning necklace with ten medium-sized amethysts and six diamonds, a pair of elegant earrings with two small amethysts, and an exquisite ring of a cluster type featuring a large oval-cut amethyst in the center surrounded by two rows of glittering diamonds.

She looked at the jewelry set in fascination. “It is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.”

A smile of satisfaction graced Robin’s visage. “I am glad to hear that you like it.”

“Where did you find it?” Her fingers were touching the necklace.

“It was made by Queen Eleanor’s royal jeweler. It was delivered to Acre yesterday,” he responded, grinning. “On the day I proposed to you three months ago, I asked King Richard whether it was possible to make something beautiful for you. Our king agreed and sent one of our special... birds with a message to Aquitaine. The Queen Mother chose the jewelry set for you and sent her messenger to Acre.”

“Have you received it today?” She wasn’t amazed, for she knew that correspondence between Richard and Eleanor was carried on by means of pigeons.

“Yes. I wanted the jewelry set of amethysts and diamonds; I hope you like it.”

Blushing slightly, she smiled at him. “Thank you, Robin.”

Melisende continued looking at the necklace until she felt that Robin stood near her. Smiling at her mischievously, Robin took the jewelry set from her hands and put it on a nearby table. She didn’t utter a word while he walked away and then strode towards her with the same smile on his face.

And then Robin kissed her like a lover, hot and deep, his hands sliding down her back and pressing her against his body. He didn’t relent until he had reduced her to a boneless mass of passion.

As he broke the kiss, Robin gazed into her eyes. “It seems you were right, Melisende. I am capable of doing almost everything, even most indecent things.” He winked at her. “You should remember that I am not the people’s hero and the king’s man – for you I am simply Robin.” He bowed to her and left the study.

Melisende was filled with giddy joy. Her body was trembling with unfulfilled need. He kissed beyond well. He could make a woman sacrifice her name and her reputation and everything to feel his hot mouth on hers. God help her, Melisende wanted Robin of Locksley as much as she had never wanted any other man. She did want the mischievous devil in her bed, and now she knew that she wanted him as desperately as he wanted her. She craved to win his heart. Then her throat tightened as she realized what she wanted him and only him. She was happy that she was marrying Robin of all the king’s subjects.

As Robin walked down the corridor, his mind drifted back to his beautiful bride. He couldn’t deny that the more time he spent with Melisende in Acre, the more attracted to her he was. He no longer objected to his upcoming marriage. Certainly, he had no reasons to complain about the king’s choice of a bride for him.

Melisende was breathtakingly beautiful, with an air of regalness, charm, grace, enigma, and fatality about her. Greatly fascinated with her beauty, Robin enjoyed looking at her, impressed by the perfect contours of her face, her flawless alabaster skin, her beguiling violet eyes, and the lines of her well-curved body. He often caught himself on the thought that he wanted her, which was most definitely a normal thing for a healthy, young, and virile man. His bride was bewitching, and he was wrapped in a web of her charms.

Melisende was very intelligent, clever, and broad-minded, her intelligence matching that of very few other women. She was similar to Eleanor of Aquitaine: a strong-willed, spirited lady born for greatness, to rule and control. Robin adored her wide outlook and her inner world; they truly shared many interests, habits, and avocations. Melisende knew seven languages, including her native Norman-French, English, Greek, German, Latin, Occitan, and Italian. Like King Richard himself, Melisende could sing troubadours’ songs or read love poems in Occitan and possessed deep knowledge in literature and philosophy. She was better educated than Marian who was better educated than daughters of other English lords.

Like Melisende, Robin was a well-educated man. He had never been a scholar and didn’t like studying, preferring physical activities and games over everything else. He spent his days playing wild games with peasant children, hunting, practicing swordplay and horsemanship, as well as working on his archery skills. Yet, if he had been interested in something, he could have spent hours sitting by the fireplace and reading a book; he read mostly military texts – accounts of battles, writings of famous generals, books of strategy, and he was very interested in the Aquitanian culture, the arts, and music of troubadours. Robin was very good at studying languages and knew six languages – English, Norman-French, Latin, French, Arabic, and Occitan.

Melisende was a great lady, but she was not Marian; they were very different. Robin still longed for Marian as he remembered her during his lonely nights, and he was sure that if he saw her again, fervid passion would simmer between them. He had loved Marian until she married Gisborne and broke his heart into many small pieces, and that betrayal brought bitterness and disappointment to his heart, the feelings he had never thought he would ever experience for her. He secretly hoped that his disappointment would kill his love for Marian and let him move on.

§§§

Little John was slowly making his way through the streets of Acre, in the southern part of the city, where Bassam lived. Robin allowed him to have a day off, and John decided to visit Will and Djaq. He came to the house several hours before the evening prayer so that he could spend some time with his friends.

John found Will and Djaq in the great hall richly furnished in the Muslim style. John hugged Djaq, and she invited him to take a seat on large cushions near a little carved Arabic table surrounded by many pillows. It was a charming chamber with a fantastic view from the window extending out to the sea. It was an ideal place for the exchange of pleasantries of all sorts and all kinds of private conversations.

A young Saracen girl served an orgy of food at the table: various soups and stews prepared with rice and Arabic spices, potatoes, peas, carrots, tender kebab, Djaq’s favorite mansaf, and Ackawi cheese. There were several kinds of dishes garnished with cooked pine nuts and almonds. John found the food much better than hot oatmeal porridge, stew, and venison which were the usual meal of the king’s men.

“We haven’t seen Robin for a few months. How is he doing?” Djaq asked.

John put a large piece of bread into his mouth. “Robin is doing fine. He did a great job for King Richard and England. If you have heard, we traveled to Masyaf and allied the king with the Hashashin. We are going to seek for the peace negotiations with Saladin.”

She smiled lazily. “It is a great achievement. May God help Robin to bring peace to the Holy Land.”

“Everyone praises Robin that he killed Robert de Sablé, Grand Master of the Knights Templar,” Will broached the subject that interested him since getting the news about de Sablé’s death.

John drank hot spiced wine with enjoyment. “Grand Master de Sablé was a traitor. He planned to hire the Hashashin to kill King Richard. He was Prince John’s ally.”

“I have heard that Robin’s fight with de Sablé was bloody,” Djaq spoke, her tone oddly formal. “I am happy that Robin exposed this vile man as a traitor and then killed him in an honorable combat.”

“The fight was long, difficult, and bloody… And Robin… was not himself in the end.” John trailed off, the image of the headless body flashing in his head, a cold shiver running down his spine.

Will shook his head. “Something like Robin Hood in the woods when he almost killed Gisborne after beating him and keeping him tied to a tree for hours?”

John smiled grimly. “Yes. Robin said goodbye to de Sablé by beheading him.”

Will nodded. “Quite predictable from Robin if he is in rage. Robin loathes and hates all traitors.”

“He is a hothead and a rebel by nature,” John opined as he nibbled mansaf. “When Robin has to face treason committed by King Richard’s formerly loyal subjects, he may turn berserk with rage.”

“Robert de Sablé deserved a bloody death,” Djaq underscored.

Will gazed at her worriedly. “Djaq, what do you have against this man?”

Djaq swallowed hard, her face flushing as memories of the most tragic moments in her life inundated her mind. “Three Knights Templar murdered my brother and father. Those men were very close to de Sablé.” She loved her brother so much that she had taken his name in his honor and had used it in England.

“This vile man will never lay hands on you. He is dead now.” Will tenderly touched her cheek and looked into her eyes, his gaze compassionate and kind.

“Good heavens!” John exclaimed, shaking his head in amazement at the coincidence. “Well, this man deserved to be killed by exactly Robin, for King Richard and for you, Djaq.”

“Another traitor to King Richard,” Will commented.

“We are in Acre, but we are still saving England by saving King Richard,” John stated passionately. “Even after de Sablé’s death and the massacre in the camp, the sheriff is still plotting to assassinate the king. They are already dividing England between themselves. And we must stop them.”

Will’s eyes widened in surprise. John was so affected by the Lionheart! Djaq only smiled, knowing quite well how easily people got under the lion’s charismatic spell.

“I agree we must stop the Black Knights,” Will responded. “Count me in, even though I won’t fight among the king’s soldiers.”

“I am in, too,” Djaq said quietly.

“The gossip is that Robin is marrying very soon,” Will jumped to another topic.

“It is true. Robin is marrying King Richard’s cousin in a week,” Djaq informed.

“How is Robin’s relationship with his bride?” Will inquired curiously.

John took a goblet of wine and emptied the contents. “I see that Robin feels a kind of attachment to Lady Melisende. This lady is very beautiful and intelligent.”

“Well, it is good news.” Djaq flashed a warm smile, feeling relief wash over her; she was worried about Robin’s emotional state, and if he could find solace in his new marriage, she was happy for him.

John rubbed his cheek. “Oh, I have forgotten to say something. Robin asked me to pass to you an invitation to the wedding festivities.”

“Robin wants us to seat at the same table with his war comrades?” Will inquired in disbelief. “He knows very well that Djaq and I don’t share his strong devotion to King Richard.”

“I don’t mind going,” Djaq declared suddenly.

“Are you sure?” Will was genuinely surprised.

Djaq shook her head slightly and smiled. “Yes, I am. This is Robin’s wedding, after all.”

John sat silent for a while, staring into the red wine in his goblet. “Now I understand why Robin is loyal to our king. The king loves Robin so much; they are close friends.”

“I once said that Robin’s loyalty to the Lionheart is both political and personal,” Djaq reminded.

“You were right,” John said after a short pause. “I changed my attitude to King Richard.”

Will took a goblet of wine and made a small sip. “Why?”

“I can’t say exactly how it happened,” John spoke with a concentrated expression on his face. “King Richard’s ability to reward loyalty and his charisma impressed me, and he inspires all of his men. The king may be cruel and ruthless, but he is also an amicable person who cares about his own soldiers.”

"John, you might be impressed by the Lionheart, for he is certainly a charismatic man,” Djaq said with more than a hint of understanding. “But there is more to this man when he usually shows to his people. He is cunning and deceitful if he needs or wants to win a big game and destroy someone.”

"The king can be very cruel,” John noted quietly. “But he loves Robin so much.”

An abashed Will blinked. “Djaq, why do you want to be at Robin’s wedding?”

“Robin would want us to attend,” Djaq answered. “For Robin.”

During the next hour, they were playing chess when Bassam came to them, his face curious. Little John stiffened because Bassam was the last person whom he wanted to see; he still remembered how the man had met them on the day of their arrival in Acre.

In spite of the white turban that swathed his proud head and his white robes, Bassam looked a sinister figure with his blazing hazel eyes and a fierce scowl on his forehead. Bassam eyed John from top to toe, his eyes glittering darkly at the sight of the red Crusader’s cross emblazoned on John’s white tunic. He greeted John half-heartedly and said that he didn't intend to bother them for long. He explained that he just needed to take a book from the chest of drawers. He took a book in his hands and opened it, pretending that he was reading while observing John from the corner of his eye.

“You must excuse me, John. I can barely tolerate any Crusader,” Bassam began with abhorrence.

Unexpectedly, Little John seemed more surprised than angered by Bassam’s manner of speech.

Djaq gave a nod. “You don’t need to explain, uncle.”

Bassam sighed. A painful look crossed his dark face and disappeared as quickly as it came, to be replaced by a scowl. “I have to explain as this man is not guilty of my feelings.” His gaze flew to John. “I have nothing against you and your friends. This is about what King Richard did here.”

John gave Bassam a sympathetic gaze. “I understand you. The Crusaders committed many atrocities.”

“Saffiya’s brother and her father were killed by the Crusaders,” Bassam snapped angrily. “I hate King Richard the Lionheart for the atrocities he committed and sanctioned. He killed many men, but not only warriors: he killed women and children in the raids his men did on our villagers and massacres.” He drew a deep breath. “And I was near the place in the desert where three thousand prisoners were slaughtered by the Crusaders under Melek-Ric’s orders. I witnessed this bloody massacre!” As his anger spiked, he raised his voice. “I loathe everything about the Crusaders since I learned about my elder brother’s death. I loathe Melek-Ric the most, and a simple reminder of him may send me to the verge of insanity.”

“I witnessed the massacre, too.” Djaq felt tears gathering in her eyes that shimmered in the bright sunlight. “It was one of the most gruesome experiences I have ever had.”

“The Lionheart’s heart is as cold as the desert at night. He is a murderer,” Bassam spat.

John interceded for his liege. “King Richard can be very affectionate. My captain is the king’s devoted friend, and I have seen our king very far from high and mighty when he is with Robin.”

Unexpectedly, John was more and more impressed with King Richard day by day, for _the king was a rare amalgamation of generosity, justice, charisma, cruelty, cunning, and ruthlessness_. The king’s sheer confidence and regalness magnified John. Yet, the former outlaw was at a loss as to how so many people gave cheers to the king and didn’t find it strange that the English monarch who, despite having spent most of his boyhood in England, didn’t like the country and spoke the language of the people he now ruled with a heavy accent. John found it uncomfortable and irritating that Robin and other guards spoke Norman-French as it was the king’s preferred language; John barely understood French and didn’t even like it.

“Melek-Ric is generous only to those whom he loves and keeps close to himself,” Bassam contradicted. “He doesn’t care for many others.”

“The king cares for his soldiers. He can be magnanimous,” John supplied with confidence. “I myself have seen such cases. I hope you don’t doubt my words?”

“I don’t,” Bassam responded reluctantly.

Bassam was an intelligent and well-educated man, schooled from a very young age by the best teachers. For many years, he had served as an envoy of one of Saladin’s emirs in Acre, while Djaq’s father had been Saladin’s personal physician. For a long time, Bassam had struggled with himself to accept that Djaq developed such a strong emotional attachment to her English friends and that she had fallen in love with the Englishman. His young niece, who was almost a daughter to him, had returned to him in Acre, but she was so different from the girl who had left the Holy Land several years ago.

Djaq’s tale about her life in slavery made Bassam’s blood boil. He was even angry that Djaq had stayed in Sherwood after she had been freed by Robin; he couldn’t imagine that his niece had put her life in danger while fighting alongside foreigners. He had made no attempt to hide his dislike of Djaq’s friends at first. Yet, Djaq had told him so many good things about Robin Hood that Bassam had grown to admire Robin’s bravery and honor. He was grateful to Robin for saving Djaq and bringing her to Acre. Bassam admired Robin of Locksley’s legendary deeds in the Holy Land; he was amazed how little he had actually known about the brave Captain Locksley, apart from Robin’s fabled humanity and magnanimity.

Many people said that Robin of Locksley was a close friend of King Richard and his protégé, a brilliant warrior who was passionately devoted to Richard. On the back of Robin’s relationship with Richard, Bassam had projected his hatred for the Lionheart onto Robin, dismissing the fame about Robin’s humanity, but Djaq’s tales painted Robin in brilliant colors. His niece’s deep adoration for Robin and her respect for the bold captain, as well as Robin’s role in Djaq’s salvation from slavery, helped Bassam warm up to Robin. He didn’t say that he had rejoiced in the recent news about Robin’s fight with Grand Master de Sablé at Robin’s hand, the very man whose people had killed his brother and nephew.

Looking at Little John, Bassam could see that John was not a typical bloodthirsty warrior even without Djaq’s tales about her life in Sherwood; Djaq confirmed his thoughts.

And there also was Will, the love of Djaq’s life and the man whom she wanted to marry. Bassam had never imagined that his niece would ever have a desire to wed an Englishman. Yet, the more he watched Djaq’s relationship with Will and heard about the outlaws of Sherwood, the more convinced he was that he had probably misjudged them. In the end, he started feeling unconformable and blamed himself that he hadn’t greeted Djaq’s friends properly on the day of their arrival in Acre.

Bassam’s face was dark. “Saffiya, I began to hate all Christians when I learned that they had captured you. I didn’t know where they had taken you, and I believed that they had killed you. It made me loathe the Crusaders and the Lionheart even more.” He seemed about to explode in anger, scowling fiercely.

Bassam went on talking about the evil caused by Christians to their family. Djaq sat quietly, staring at her hands folded on her lap, attempting to ward off the urge to weep. From time to time, she glanced up to find Bassam eyeing her expectantly and to meet John's understanding look. Djaq finally focused her gaze on Will, who was growing irritated with Bassam’s talk about the past because he saw that it depressed Djaq.

“Saladin killed Christians, didn’t he?” John questioned cautiously.

“Yes, he did,” Bassam acquiesced.

Bassam fell silent, glowering at John who looked calm and concentrated. Eventually, he turned angry, muttering something in Arabic under his breath, his eyes blazing with anger.

Djaq blinked back the tears that were brimming in her eyes. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Djaq, how can I help you? Please don’t be so sad, my beloved!” Will caressed her cheek with his fingertips, a small gesture of his affection for her.

“I am fine, Will.” She brushed away oozing tears, masking her sudden weakness with the memories with an assumed boldness; yet, her chin was tilted defiantly.

Bassam eyed his guests. “I am sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I will see myself out.”

“Most definitely, you didn’t harm us, uncle,” Djaq said soothingly.

Bassam looked at his niece, his features softening. “Forgive me, my dear Saffiya, if I displeased you. I am an old man who didn’t think when he spoke.” He rose to his feet, bowed to the guests, and exited.

The door slammed behind him. Everyone sighed heavily, listening to the receding footsteps of the man whom Djaq loved with all her heart and John and Will liked a lot.

John looked at the closed door. “Has Bassam accepted your relationship?”

Djaq smiled heartily, feeling Will’s hand squeezing hers. “Yes, he did. He likes Will.”

“What did you say to make him change his mind just in a few months?" John wondered.

“Oh, I did nothing really serious,” Djaq replied in a casual manner, as if they were discussing a mere trifle. “My uncle only understood that I love Will and he loves me.”

Will shrugged eloquently. “I was amazed that Bassam accepted me.”

Djaq smiled fondly at Will and patted his cheek. “But he likes you, my beloved.”

“I am happy for you,” John responded sincerely.

Will embraced Djaq affectionately, and she clung to his chest as if trying to reassure herself that they were together. She loved Will wholeheartedly; she loved him for his inexhaustible compassion, his sincere and deep love for her, and his selfless care for most humble souls. Will pressed her to himself closely, and they felt at home. Little John smiled at the couple, delighted to see them in their blissful happiness.

§§§

The long-awaited grand wedding of Sir Robert James Fitzooth of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon, and Lady Melisende Adelaide Plantagenet, Countess de Bordeaux, took place in the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, the largest Crusader church in Acre. In the warm, amber glow of the light from hundreds of blazing candles, the bride and bridegroom knelt at the altar, their hands linked under a purple silk bridal canopy. Flickering flames set the nave aglow; everyone was quiet, listening to mass and the songs sung in Latin.

Robin felt as if he were somewhere else during the wedding ceremony, out of his own body. It was difficult to believe that it was his wedding, though he was well aware of King Richard and the Earl of Leicester standing near them as witnesses. Robin watched his bride from the corner of his eye, periodically examining his surroundings – the high white and gold ceiling with its hexagonal mouldings, the heavily gilded furniture and, last of all, the great canvases depicting Jesus Christ and Virgin Mary, all of them strengthening the sensation of unreality in his heart.

King Richard the Lionheart, the legendary Coeur de Lion, smiled benevolently at Robin. To mark the occasion, the King of England wasn’t dressed in his usual Crusader garb, looking majestic in his purple tunic and trousers of matching color; a golden jeweled crown adorned his red-gold head. The lion’s face was unemotional, but there was a small smile on his lips that bespoke his satisfaction and good spirits on the day of his grand favorite’s wedding. He smiled warmly every time his gaze fell at Robin or Melisende. Richard’s chief generals didn’t wear Crusader tunics tonight, but everyone was armed.

Robin studied Melisende’s lovely face closely, his gaze wandering over the long, graceful throat and the proud curves revealed by the low-cut bodice of silk and lace. Melisende looked regal and very beautiful. Her wedding attire was quite unusual: she wore a magnificent gown of heavy, silver-violet brocade, stiff with gold embroidery, with a low square-cut neckline and a long taffeta train. A collar and cuffs of the sleeves were faced with a massive row of light blue Venetian lace. The color of her gown perfectly matched her violet eyes and emphasized her well-developed curves.

Melisende’s jewelry was exclusive and exquisite. The sapphire and pearl bracelets of almost barbaric splendor adorned her neck and arms, a sparkling large oval cut sapphire necklace adorned her bosom. Beneath the crown of cooper-colored roses and violets on Melisende’s head, the color of her hair was deeply red-gold, almost red, and it shone like copper in the bright sunlight. Her long hair was partly piled up into a heavy chignon to support the crown of flowers and beautifully framed her alabaster face. The color of her hair immediately betrayed her blood relationship with the King of England: the red-gold hair was the distinguishing feature of the Lionheart and the Plantagenets.

Robin closed his eyes for a split second in order to regain his composure, and then opened them, looking at the altar. Robin still loved Marian, but he began to think that fate gave him a great chance to find peace in a marriage to another woman who understood his unwavering loyalty to King Richard and England. But he had to admit that Marian somehow seemed distant and his passion for her cooled off due to her betrayal and his deep attraction to Melisende.

Melisende thought that Robin of Locksley was a magnificent man. Dressed in an azure doublet with a standing lace collar, gold embroidered lions on his chest, and matching trousers, each piece trimmed with exquisite jewelry, Robin looked handsome and devilishly charming, with an aristocratic grace and a devil-may-care attitude mingled whimsically in one man. His boyish handsomeness was stressed by his impishly cut, sandy-colored hair and his roguish stubble. His facial features, unlike those of many nobles, didn’t have an imprint of boredom; his face transformed into a cheeky grin if his mischievous nature prevailed.

Robin set the ring on his bride’s finger and then spoke his marriage vows, his voice steady and fast. The ring was an exquisite piece of jewelry – a beautiful golden ring with the large amethyst in the center, which was surrounded by ten small shimmering diamonds. Then Melisende slipped on Robin’s finger a similar ring. Robin chose these rings to match the color of her violet eyes.

Robin looked at Melisende as she spoke her vows, imagining that she was Marian, but the vision of Marian’s face quickly faded away. The priest raised his hand in blessing and then uttered standard ritual words; all heads were bowed. The priest lapsed into silence, and everyone stared at the couple.

Robin suddenly realized that _he was married to Lady Melisende Plantagenet, but not to Lady Marian Fitzwalter of Knighton_. He was joined in holy matrimony with the king’s cousin, and his future descendants would have royal blood in their veins, which was a dream of many nobles. He was not only the Earl of Huntingdon now, but also Count de Bordeaux through his marriage to Melisende; he was one of the most high-ranking nobles in the Angevin Empire, although he didn’t particularly care about his social standing.

Robin cast anchor on the shores of reality and realized that now he was a married man. He bent his head and kissed Melisende on her lips, but it was a short and gentle kiss. His eyes glowed with tenderness and lust when he ended the kiss and looked into her eyes to see them twinkle in amusement.

Melisende smiled at Robin mysteriously. “Forever,” she said softly. “Until death do us part.”

Robin smiled faintly. “Until death do us part,” he repeated, dropping a reference to forever.

Robin looked at King Richard who smiled encouragingly at him. Robin smiled widely at the king and then looked at his new wife. Robin’s friends also hurried to congratulate him, wishing him all the best.

Richard enfolded Robin into a warm, affectionate embrace. He held his captain in the circle of his arms more than appropriate. “Robin, take care of our cousin,” he spoke hortatively.

“With my life,” Robin replied truthfully.

Then the king hugged Melisende, and she threw headlong herself into Richard's arms. He murmured into her ear, “I love you, Melisende. You have always been my weakness, you and Johanna. I have always loved you most of all in our family.” He held her tight to his chest. “I hope you are pleased.”

Melisende sighed into his chest. “I hope everything will be… alright.”

Everyone congratulated the newly wedded couple.

The May morning was hot and sunny, and the air smelled pleasantly of fresh flowers in the gardens near the Cathedral. The wedding party emerged from the cathedral, and the Crusaders stared back at Lady Melisende Plantagenet, squint-eyed with envy and not hiding the unhidden lust in their eyes, for they didn’t have the pleasure of seeing such a beautiful woman for so long. She was a goddess in the midst of all those battle-hardened Crusaders, who were splendidly appareled in honor of the ceremony.

They rode through the streets of Acre towards the Citadel of Acre located in the southern district of the city. The roads to the citadel were lined with hundreds of the Crusaders because the wedding of Captain Locksley and the king’s cousin was the most popular event in Acre. It was a holiday crowd, dressed in smart clothes and rippling with excitement and curiosity. The king’s guards and the Knights Templar thronged the gardens, crowded streets, and dipped their hands in fountains. The streets near the citadel were so crowded that it seemed the entire populace of Acre had come to Henry de Champagne’s residence.

King Richard, Robin, and Melisende were seated in a magnificent carriage, Melisende between the king and Robin. The king waved at the crowds who cheered Richard and the newly wedded couple; Robin and Melisende were quiet and regal, watching the people with a stir of amusement. Robin liked the grandeur of their party, and, for an instant, he was able to pretend that all his troubles fell into oblivion; but when the carriage stopped in front of the entrance to the citadel, reality came crashing down upon him again.

The Citadel of Acre was part of the city's defensive formation, reinforcing the northern wall. It was a huge fortress, the main residence of King Richard within the walls of Acre during the Third Crusade. The building was secured by huge walls and operated similarly to a small town within itself. It contained the quarters of Henry of Jerusalem, Count de Champagne, and Lady Isabella of Jerusalem; the two of them ruled the city whilst Richard was waging war with the Saracens.

Richard took Melisende’s hand and kissed it briefly; he nodded at Robin then, signaling to take his wife’s hand. Forcing a smile on his face, Robin took Melisende’s hand, and their eyes locked. Robin stared at his young wife for long enough for her to see the glimpse of incredibility and fear in his eyes. Melisende smiled at her husband with a slow, bewitching smile, and said to him that they should follow the king.

Robin led Melisende through in the vast square courtyard. When they paused once, he whispered into her ear that she was beautiful and flashed a lascivious grin. He had already informed her countless times of how beautiful and enchanting she looked, and Melisende believed that he indeed felt so; yet, she questioned whether Robin didn’t regret marrying her. They were both overwhelmed by the events of the day.

Inside, there were more people in the Citadel of Acre than usual because of the wedding celebrations and pageantry. The interior contained countless armed king’s guards and archers; here the majority of the men wore white tunics featuring a fully embroidered coat-of-arms of the three golden lions of England. Every soldier had a sword, which was necessary to ensure the safety of the king and his entourage.

The great hall was decorated with green ribbons and various flowers, including violets of unusual shades of violet, blue, white, and some of them bicolored, arum lilies, and a multitude of cooper-colored, red, and white roses. Trestle tables dressed in green linen lined the perimeter of the chamber and brightly clad musicians, who waited to begin to entertain the guests during and in between the various interludes of the wedding feast. The chamber was filled with the odor of lilies, lavender, and rosemary.

King Richard sat at the center of the long table covered with an orgy of delicious French food and goblets filled with great wine from the best vineyards in the Loire Valley, with Robin and Melisende at his right and left, respectively. All eyes were glued to Robin and Melisende, everyone smiling and congratulating them, as well as enjoying the lavish and opulent feast. The atmosphere was jolly, and the air was filled with merry laughter and lighthearted enjoyment. The celebrations were colorful, expensive, and magnificent. Music was heavenly, companionship the finest. Exclusive wine flowed in sparkling abundance, and goblets were never empty. Music, dancing, and all other entertainments were held in between each course of the feast.

King Richard watched Robin and Melisende conversing quietly. “Is there any other more stunning couple than the Earl and Countess of Huntingdon?” he asked jovially.

“There is no other couple like Robin and Melisende,” Carter of Stretton agreed with a large smile.

"They are a gorgeous couple! They are also devoted servants,” Henry de Champagne opined.

"You are fortunate, Robin, to possess such a treasure. There is no a man here tonight who doesn’t envy your good luck. We hope you realize it,” the Earl of Leicester supplied in most sincere tones.

The Earl of Leicester confided in Robin that the king had thrown a vast fortune on the wedding festivities of his beloved cousin and his grand favorite. Richard had ordered to bring all the flowers for decorations from the gardens of the Castle of Limassol on Cyprus more than a month ago. Leicester also said that many green decorations had been used in honor of Robin’s adventures in Sherwood.

Robin lowered his head, his brow furrowing. “I just hope I would never let Melisende down.”

King Richard raised a quizzical brow. “Why are you so sad, Robin?”

Robin blanched, and, in a voice slightly trembling, he confessed, "I fear for Melisende’s safety. I am hated by so many of Prince John’s supporters. I can expose her life to many dangers.”

“Am I not the King of England? Am I not powerful?” the Lionheart responded pompously. “Aren’t you married to Lady Melisende Plantagenet, my beloved cousin? Aren’t you my friend?”

After Robin’s return to Acre, Robin had quickly discovered that nothing changed in his relationship with King Richard, who lavished him with his affection as much as before. In his company in private, Richard rarely used royal etiquette. Today, the king treated Robin not even as his close friend, but more as a family member, which made Robin proud and euphoric.

“I know, sire, but–” The terror which had been gripping Robin’s heart miraculously relaxed its hold. Although it was his function to protect the king, Robin was conscious of the extraordinary sense of security from his powerful enemies in England which only his closeness to Richard could give him.

The king cut him off sharply. “Never fear Prince John, for I will always favor you. And John loves Melisende, and he is unlikely to touch you or any of your descendants after your wedding to her.”

Robin reminded, “There is also the Sheriff of Nottingham.”

“Vaisey would be a fool if he plotted against Melisende who is loved by both John and me. If he does something to her, it would be his death sentence signed by both John and me. But Vaisey is not stupid.”

“I beg your pardon for talking… about that.”

Richard smiled heartily. “You don’t need to apologize. I have always valued your honesty,” he said with a genuine friendly affection. “Believe me that I know what I am doing. You should stop driving yourself the brink of madness with your fears.”

Robin remained silent, his gaze bouncing anxiously between the king and Melisende, who was talking to Lady Catherine de Mathefelon, her lady-in-waiting. He fixed his gaze at the king, smiling. “Thank you, milord. I am eternally indebted to you for your attention to my humble personality.”

The king patted Robin’s shoulder. "Robin, you are my friend, and I deeply care for you,” he said in a personal manner, in a velvet voice. “You owe me nothing. You, of all the people who served me, have been my most loyal and dearest friend. I am indebted to you, for you saved my life many times. You have my undying gratitude, although it is not enough to repay my debt to you.”

Robin was embarrassed. “Sire, I don’t deserve this acclaim.”

The lion drew away without taking his eyes off his favorite. “Robin, you deserve my highest praises. You are a kind-hearted and noble-minded man, and I respect and love you more for that.”

A jubilant Robin broke into a wide smile. “I am glad that you consider me your friend, milord.”

“And how can it be otherwise?” The lion chuckled.

Robin heaved a sigh, although he was smiling. “Of course.” A vague presentiment stole over him, and he couldn’t explain his feelings. It wasn’t a whispering certainty that his liege would ever stop favoring him; it was something different, dark and portentous, so intense that it became almost a consciousness for him.

§§§

From the corner of his eye, Robin intercepted Melisende’s ambivalent glances at him, and he also knew that she smiled when she didn’t want to, although she wasn’t unhappy tonight. Her violet eyes intrigued him most of all in her appearance, for they were of such a rare color and were like hooks to doom, with all the violet shades whirling and changing, entrancing him, driving him to the brink of insanity with their enigma.

Robin took a goblet of wine to his lips. “Melisende, you are sad, but you are trying to put on a serene face,” he voiced his thoughts, slowly drinking wine, his eyes full of concern. “Did I do something wrong?”

A wistful expression crossed Melisende’s face before turning blank. “I am truly sorry that your life has been turned upside down. You had to wed me out of loyalty to Richard, for political reasons. I am sure that you don’t want to be tied to me with the bonds of a loveless marriage.”

Robin set a goblet of wine on the table. He took her hand in his and gave her a penetrating gaze. “Once I said that I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t want to, even if King Richard asked me to.” He smirked. “But you are not ugly, squint-eyed, or bandy-legged! I find you, my dear wife, quite bearable!”

Melisende laughed. “I can never be bored with you.”

He winked at her. “I am glad.”

“And so am I.”

Robin traced the line of her jaw lightly with his finger. She felt the caress and smiled enticingly. “I know everything is strange just now, but I hope we both will come around.”

“Yes,” she said with hope. “Will I see you tonight?”

Robin grinned at her; his fingers entwined with hers. “Of course.”

Melisende lowered her head. “As you wish, Lord Huntingdon.”

“Have you again become official to tease me? My name is Robin.”

She laughed. “Robin, you are like a bird. You look so slender that you remind me of a little bird.”

“Oh,” Robin breathed, grinning sheepishly. “Robert was the first one who called me a little bird, and others followed suit.” His grin widened. “But I like it a lot. It sounds beautiful and lyrical.”

“I will call you Robert, then.”

Robin shook his head. “I hate when people call me Robert…”

“I know.”

“I know that you know,” he retorted. “Please let me be Robin – never Robert.”

“It depends on your behavior.” She grinned, her eyes sparkling. “If you annoy and infuriate me, you will be Robert. If you are good and entertaining, then you will be Robin.”

Robin frowned, but his eyes twinkled in mischief. “You want to infuriate me, right?”

She smiled enigmatically. “Maybe yes, maybe no.”

“Oh, Madame! God help me in this marriage!”

She didn’t share Robin’s impish spirits; not before the wedding night. “God help me, too.”

Robin allowed himself to relax for the first time in many months, his heartache and pain being soothed by the music and the general merriment. He indulged himself in pleasantries of the celebration in earnest. As Melisende was called by Henry de Champagne to collect wedding gifts, Robin sat beside King Richard, talking to the Knights Templar, including Sir Gilbert Horal, who had been recently elected Grand Master of Knights Templar. Everyone congratulated Robin with his marriage and his victory over Robert de Sablé. Robin was happy when the Knights Templar finally we gone, bowing deeply and giving their blessings.

“Oh, they are gone,” Robin said with apparent relief.

“And we have some time alone,” King Richard continued.

“A short moment, I suspect.” Robin frowned at the sight of the crowded entrance where more Knights Templar stood, waiting for an opportunity to approach them.

Richard bent his head to Robin. “How do you feel being married to my cousin?” he whispered into Robin’s ear, forgetting the royal protocol and his royal “we”. He pulled back from his favorite, his brows raised quizzically. “It is an arranged political marriage, but I hope you are content. Tell me the truth.”

“Melisende is an unusual and interesting lady,” Robin acknowledged eagerly, feeling the king’s breath on his skin. “I cannot lie to you, sire. I cannot say that I love her, but I am not indifferent to her.”

“I told you that Melisende is a remarkable lady. If a man ever meets her, he will never forget her.”

Robin dipped his head in agreement. “I feel emotionally attached to Melisende. She understands me and never doubts my choices,” he confessed, a slow flush spreading over his face. “And she… doesn’t question my loyalty to you. I am grateful that you arranged this union for me.”

The king eyed the younger man suspiciously. “Are you content? Are you telling me the truth?”

A demon of wit clawed through the chest of Robin Hood. He grinned daringly and retorted, “Sire, I have been only truthful with you so far, but maybe I should start telling you some falsehood. Then I will finally have a sparring match you once promised me as a punishment!”

Richard exploded with a crescendo of laughter. He gathered Robin into his strong arms with a movement of spontaneous tenderness. The lion thundered his palm on Robin’s back and drew back.

The king’s lips stretched in a kind smile. “It would be hardly prudent for you to have a fight with me. You know that you will lose, Robin, and you don’t want to be defeated. I am the best Christian warrior, and mot even all your talents will steer you through the duel to victory!”

Robin laughed. “My liege, your words didn’t crushing any of my hope to win because I have never had any! I have no doubt that I will never be the best swordsman in Christendom. But why can’t I pretend at least for a while that I can win? Maybe I wish to tempt fate!”

“Pretend, but don’t cross a line,” the king said with feigned warning in his tone, his eyes twinkling.

“I will try, but I can promise nothing more.” The king was in an elevated mood, and Robin could go on his familiar grinning and teasing; he knew that his liege enjoyed their mocking arguments and skirmishes, and he always embarked on witty duels with his liege whenever possible.

“You are incorrigible!” a grinning Richard exclaimed.

Robin laughed. “I am!”

“You still care for Lady Marian, don’t you?”

Robin nodded an affirmative. “It doesn’t stop just because you want it to,” he supplied breathlessly.

“I think she also cares for you, as well as for the other man, Guy of Gisborne.”

Robin waggled his eyebrows in surprise. “Sire?”

“Robin, I mean that Lady Marian cares for you, but her heart is divided. And, don’t get me wrong, but my opinion is that there is nothing worse than a marriage to a woman with a divided heart.”

“I have realized that. I no longer hate Marian. I have accepted her choices. I just want to forget her.”

“Good, Robin. This is a new experience for you that you, with all your good looks, your natural charm, your far-famed beneficence, and your legendary reputation, may be rejected by a woman. I know that it injured your heart and your pride. But rejections happen, and we have to move on. Just remember that soul is barren if it doesn’t invest itself in affection and love.”

The Earl of Huntingdon gave a husky chuckle. “I am not in love, but I am content with what I have. I didn’t forget the past, but I no longer view a marriage to another woman as something impossible.”

“A word of advice.” The king took Robin’s hand in his, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Stop trying to catch an unattainable star in a distant sky. There are stars right in front of you. Take what God and life give you. You may love someone from the past, but you live in the present.”

“You are right.”

“Promise me, Robin. Promise me.” The king wanted him to be happy instead of wasting his life chasing after the shadows of the past and craving to have what he couldn’t.

“I promise.” Robin, slightly amazed but pleased by his liege’s comment, gave him a bright look.

The wedding feast continued. Courtly love songs and chivalry ballads were performed by Blondel de Nesle, one of the most famous trouvères. Blondel was King Richard’s favorite minstrel who accompanied the king to Acre and whose songs let everyone enjoy courtly love in Outremer.

Blondel was lying at Melisende’s feet, singing “ _Se savoient mon tourment_ ”, one of his tragic verses. King Richard, Robin, and others were listening intently. The song was about an indifferent beautiful lady who was unattainable for a poor poet who loved her beyond reason and whose heart was bleeding.

Richard, Melisende, and Robin were listening to the song as if they were entranced. Melisende’s face was alight with gladness, for every woman loved to be courted and admired by troubadours and minstrels.

_Se savoient mon tourment_

_Et auques de mon afaire_

_Cil qui demandent conment_

_Je puis tant de chançons faire,_

_Il diroient vraiement_

_Que nus a chanter n'entent_

_Qui mieuz s'en deüst retraire;_

_Maiz pour ce chant seulement_

_Que je muir pluz doucement._

King Richard looked at Blondel. “Play a bit more loudly, Blondel. It is such a pleasant tune.”

As the old troubadour sang a song about tragic love, Robin felt his heart beating faster, luxuriating in the rhythm of the troubadour’s melodic voice, the vocal chords of Occitan, which he knew very well since childhood. His mind brought back the images of Queen Eleanor’s court he loved and missed a lot. Engraved into his memory were those weeks when he had spent evenings  in _‘in the hall of lost footsteps’_ , the so-called _La Salle des Pas Perdus_ , or in Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine’s ducal apartments in the Maubergeonne Tower, watching the performance of the queen’s tumblers and listening to songs of Eleanor’s troubadours.

When Robin had lived in Aquitaine during his knighthood training and for more than a year during Richard’s last rebellion against his father, he had devoted a lot of time to studying the arts. He had excelled in Occitan, and he had enjoyed the art of troubadours immensely. He admired the poets of the southland and their art that was created by them not for gain but for pleasure, not in cultured Latin but in _the langue doc_ , not for men but primarily for women of great castles and manors.

Blondel continued singing, and all eyes were riveted on the troubadour.

_Trop par me grieze forment_

_Que cele est si debonaire_

_Qui tant de dolour me rent_

_Ce qu'a tout le mont doit plaire;_

_Maiz ne me grevast nïent,_

_Se la tres bele au cors gent_

_Me feïst touz ces maus traire._

_Maiz ce m'ocit vraiement_

_Qu'el ne set que pour li sent._

Robin laughed morbidly, and his laugh would have been painful to hear if it wasn’t so quiet. Blondel sang that the poet’s heart was like a large bleeding wound, aching for the beautiful lady; but she was cold to him, and the poet couldn’t have her even in her dreams, eventually dying of a broken heart. Robin’s heart was breaking, as if an amorous tragedy had seeped into his bones and some unknown creatures of doom were singing mournful melodies in his anguished mind.

Blondel’s poem somewhat mirrored the situation in Robin’s life. The tragedy of Marian’s betrayal of their love was so much like the tragedy in the poet’s life. As Blondel sang that love was slowly killing the poet, tormenting him, Robin imagined himself in the poet’s role; rage and jealousy tormented him like evil fingers plucking at his heart. He couldn’t ward off his despair, feeling as if all burdens were weighing down on him, as if his life were nearing its end. For a moment, the resplendent surroundings seemed almost pitch dark, matching the dark, unfathomable void in Robin’s heart.

_Se seüst certeinnement_

_Mon martire et mon contraire_

_Cele por qui je consent_

_Que l'amour me tient et maire,_

_Je croi bien qu'alegement_

_M'envoiast procheinnement;_

_Quar par droit le deüst faire,_

_Se reguars a escïent_

_De ses biaux ieus ne me ment._

Richard veered his gaze to Robin, and his eyes fixed on the younger man’s face that was devoid of emotions, although Robin’s cold eyes were full of pain. Robin caught the lion’s concerned gaze and rewarded his liege with a ghost of a smile that was gone before it arrived.

Robin‘s heart thudded loudly in his chest as he recalled with a ruthless clarity all of Marian's promises and her words of love and then her final cold lecture about his fealty to the king. Helpless rage coursed through him, and he swore to cut all the ties to Marian. He had to forget his former betrothed and move on!

_Chançons, va isnelement_

_A la bel au cler viaire,_

_Si li di tant seulement:_

_Qui de bons est, souëf flaire._

_Ne l'os prier autrement,_

_Quar trop pensai hautement,_

_Si n'en puis mon cuer retraire._

_Et se pitiez ne l'en prent,_

_Blondiaus muert, que pluz n'atent._

Robin shook his head, trying to banish the image of Marian’s face from his mind. He promised himself that his love for Marian would fade away like an evening shadow with the onslaught of darkness. Yet, there were still stirrings in his heart when he thought of the beautiful, courageous, and cruel brunette; yet, his longing was mingled with a selfish sense of relief at his escape from the fatal temptation. He told himself that if he had decided to stay in Nottingham, watching Gisborne and Marian, he would have turned his back on the supreme gift fate and King Richard had offered him – Lady Melisende Plantagenet.

“ _Se savoient mon tourment_ ,” Robin whispered to himself. “ _Et auques de mon afaire, Cil qui demandent conment Je puis tant de chançons faire..._ ”

Unbeknownst to Robin, Melisende kept her eyes firmly fixed on her husband’s. She could see the flashes of pain in Robin’s eyes, and she fathomed out that the song reminded Robin of his own love story. For an instant, Robin’s eyes met hers, and she imagined that some quiet plaintive words fell from his lips. Robin smiled at his wife, for the sight of her lovely face drove the thought of Marian’s betrayal out of his mind, although the pain remained in his heart – it was stored away, for pain that great could not be hidden.

Blondel finished the song, and a hush fell in the chamber. Robin let his hands slip down on to his knees, feeling suddenly horribly nervous and yet excited in anticipation of his wedding night. There was loud, heated applause to Blondel, and Robin glanced at the king and his wife.

"Magnificent and sad,” Robin said reverently, his eyes glowing, their color lighting a shade.

“This is heavenly,” Melisende said rapturously.

King Richard smiled at Robin warmly. “Enjoying?”

“Yes,” Robin corroborated. “You know, sire, I am very fond of music.”

A smiling Melisende affirmed, “Richard, it is good that you keep Blondel here.”

Smiling breezily, the king gazed at the troubadour who began singing a new verse. “Blondel makes life here more bearable. His gentle songs are better than the clang of swords.”

Robin laughed with a touch of heartiness. “Well, I cannot disagree.” He smiled, a little sadly, a little wistfully. “I miss court in Aquitaine so much. I loved the life there.”

The lion’s face also changed into wistfulness. “You are not alone, my friend. I miss Aquitaine, too.”

Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester, entered the conversation. “Robin, you have only northern blood in your veins. Yet, you are so fond of troubadours, and you speak Occitan so well. I have been amazed by this fact since I met you in Poitou more than ten years ago.”

The lion turned to Leicester. He looked at his favorite almost as if he were alarmed. “Robert, why do you consider Robin’s preferences strange?”

A surprised Leicester shrugged. He ventured to explain his opinion, “A rare Saxon lord is so interested in courtly love and misses Aquitaine.”

“Yeah, it is just me,” Robin retorted, slowly draining his goblet of wine.

Leicester chuckled. “Certainly, Robin Hood.”

“But I am not a pure Saxon lord,” Robin enlightened. “My mother, Lady Elizabeth of Locksley, was born in England, but her mother – my grandmother – was actually from Aquitaine.”

The Earl of Leicester chuckled. “Oh, I didn’t know that.”

Robin winked at his friend. “Well, now you know.”

“I do.” Leicester winked back.

“Don’t forget that troubadours praise high ideals and virtue, which is consistent with Robin Hood’s over-arching principles of justice and kindness,” Robin noted with a touch of yearning in his voice.

“Ah, I forgot, Robin Hood! I am so sorry!” Leicester cried out facetiously.

They laughed pleasantly at Leicester’s joke, everyone except for Richard. The king laughed unpleasantly, almost mechanically, his eyes doleful for a moment before turning blank. Richard refilled his goblet with wine and made a sip, his expression thoughtful. Melisende noticed the subtle changes in her cousin’s demeanor; their eyes locked in a brief moment of the private communication, but the lion tore his gaze from hers and looked away, shifting in his chair uncomfortably.

The lion sighed sadly and stared at the Earl of Leicester. “Robert, we are fond of your court airs, but we don’t appreciate your remarks about Robin’s unusual origins and tastes. We don’t like these words.” To stress his displeasure, he again became more formal and used the royal “we”.

“I am sorry, my liege,” Leicester drawled, genuinely astonished. “It will never happen again.”

“Let’s forget about that, Robert. It is alright,” the lion dismissed his favorite’s concerns.

Melisende and Robert looked at Richard in amazement. Robin felt chills dance up his spine, sensing that there was something behind the façade of the king’s blankness. Robin stared at the king who smiled at him with a smile of rare warmth, and he smiled back.

King Richard raised his hand, signaling for silence. “Now our Comtessa de Dia will sing to her beloved Raimbaut of Orange,” he announced, looking at his cousin. “Melisende, please begin!”

Now all eyes were directed at the king’s cousin. Melisende had grown up at court in Aquitaine, and she was known for singing some love songs, with a special preference for the songs of Comtessa _Beatriz de Dia, a famous female troubadour who sang to her beloved, Raimbaut of Orange_ ; she often gave solo performances at court in Poitiers. And now Melisende was about to start singing in Occitan the song _“Ab joi et ab joven m'apais”_ _(“Now I must sing of what I would not do…”_ ).

_Ab joi et ab joven m'apais_

_E jois e jovens m'apaia,_

_Que mos amics es lo plus gais_

_Per q'ieu sui condet'e gaia ;_

_E pois eu li sui veraia,_

_Be is taing q'el me sia verais ;_

_C'anc de lui amar no m'estrais,_

_Ni ai cor que m'en estraia._

Melisende was singing about the lady who fell in love with the knight who failed to reciprocate her affections. She sang very well, her voice was melodic and strong, piercing the audience to the depths of their hearts. But Melisende sang for Robin and only for him, looking into his eyes and smiling at him.

Melancholy suffused Robin as he looked into his wife’s glowing violet eyes _._ “ _Now I must sing of what I would not do, complain of him I confess to loving true; I love him more than any the world can view: yet my grace and courtesy own no value, nor my beauty, my worthiness, my mind; I’m deceived, betrayed, as would be my due, If the slightest charm in me he failed to find…_ ”

_Mout mi plai car sai que val mais_

_Sel q'ieu plus desir que m'aia,_

_E cel que primiers lo m'atrais_

_Dieu prec que tran jo l'atraia ;_

_E qui que mal l'en retraia,_

_No l creza fors so qu'ie l retrais ;_

_C'om cuioll maintas vetz los balais_

_Ab q'el mezeis se balaia._

Robin felt as if Melisende were punishing him with her song for his constant reminiscing about Marian. Robin closed his eyes, his heart writhing in the throes of anguish and guilt. Dragging a deep breath, Robin opened his eyes, and the cries of grief in his soul were silenced by the sight of Melisende’s smile.

_E dompna q'en bon pretz s'enten_

_Deu ben pausar s'entendenssa_

_En un pro cavallier valen,_

_Pois qu'ill conois sa valenssa._

_Que l'aus amar a presenssa,_

_Que dompna pois am'a presen_

_Ja pois li pro ni li valen_

_No n dirant mas avinenssa._

Robin’s heart hammered harder as Melisende started singing about the lady’s pledge to conquer the knight’s love. The words sounded like an oath she was giving her husband. “ _I solace myself with this, I was false never my friend, to you, neither in acts nor manner; I love you more than Seguis loved Valensa; to conquer you in love gives me more pleasure, dear friend, for, of all, you are the worthiest; yet proud to me in deeds and what you utter, though you seem humble towards all the rest_.”

Robin missed several verses of the song, his eyes focused on Melisende’s face. And then she finished singing and flashed a smile of larger-than-life brilliance, a tart feeling of guilt overwhelmed him. The chamber exploded in applause, but Robin heard nothing. He could look only at Melisende.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vaisey, Guy, and a few other companions finally departed to the Holy Land. Well, this chapter is more about Robin than Guy and the other characters because the first chapter was mainly about Guy. More new characters appear in the next chapter (maybe you understand whom I mean). The culmination of part 2 of this long epic is between chapters 6 and 10, although drama begins in chapter 4.
> 
> Marian and Isabella are taken hostage by Vaisey who is planning to use them against Guy and compel his henchman to act as his wishes. Poor Guy! Guy is trapped by Vaisey who wants him to kill the king! As you probably understand, Guy is going to have a difficult time in Acre (yet, not only Guy is going to have great troubles). I remind you that Guy doesn’t feel very enthusiastic about killing King Richard.
> 
> Do you have any interesting thoughts about Isabella? She plays an important role in this story.
> 
> Robin is again conducting reconnaissance in disguise, although he doesn’t find Vaisey’s allies. I used the plan of the ancient Acre when I wrote the part about Robin’s strolls in Acre. I also decided to finally give you some backstory for Djaq, for I like her as a character.
> 
> I hope that you liked the scene of Robin’s marriage to Melisende. If we suppose that Robin indeed has such a close relationship with King Richard and marries the king’s cousin, the wedding ceremony must surely be grand and splendid. Writing this chapter was a pleasure for me because it is about calm and beautiful events in Acre, and I enjoyed writing the wedding ceremony and the pageantry.
> 
> By the time Vaisey, Guy, and others arrive in the Holy Land, Robin is already married to Melisende for several months. The important twist is that Robin finally stopped hating Marian and accepted her choices, although it doesn’t mean that he has completely forgotten her and that he isn’t hurting. Robin is not in love, but he is surely not as devastated as he used to be in part 1 of this long epic when Marian married Guy. Well, Robin deserves some happiness and peace, at least a little – don’t forget that Vaisey is on the way to Acre and he is not going to stop his attempts to kill Richard.
> 
> I hope you liked my idea to add in this chapter some information about Blondel and his songs! I think the mysterious relationship between King Richard and Blondel is one of the coolest things in the life of King Richard. Richard was known to be fond of music and was nurtured in the troubadour culture of his southern homeland, so some additions about music enrich this story.
> 
> If you remember the triangle Robin/King Richard/Guy and the truth about Robin’s relationship with the king, you may see why I give you some information about Robin’s supposed interest in Aquitanian culture. By the way, in the series many aspects of Robin’s personality were kind of similar to some qualities of character which the populace of Poitou had. Take Robin’s love for theatrics which was not a typical feature for the Saxons and was easily found in almost every southern soul!
> 
> It is not the last time when King Richard's beloved troubadour Blondel and his songs are featured here. The information about one of the most famed female troubadour Beatritz de Dia, known as Comtessa de Dia (the Countess of Dia), is historically correct.
> 
> I want to remind you of the full names in this story. They are: Sir Robert James Fitzooth of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon (similar to legends); Sir Guy Crispin FitzCorbet of Gisborne (like in the show, but Guy has a surname FitzCorbet); Lady Marian Isabella Fitzwalter of Knighton (like on the show); and Lady Melisende Adelaide Plantagenet, Countess de Bordeaux (she is a fictional character).


	3. Darkness and Secrets

**Chapter 3**

**Darkness and Secrets**

While everyone celebrated the wedding in the great hall, there were two people who sought solitude outside to have an important conversation. Sir Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester, and Lady Melisende Plantagenet, the Countess of Huntingdon and Countess de Bordeaux in her own right, slipped from the banqueting hall and went out. They had to talk seriously about the secret they were keeping from King Richard, Robin, and the world. Melisende wanted to talk to Robert, and he could never refuse.

The night was a little cold and fresh, but it was still pleasant to be in the magnificent garden, outside the Citadel of Acre. There was no desert around them. In the rays of the setting sun, the green trees gleamed like emeralds and the clear water of the fountains shimmered.

“Are you alright, Melisende?” Robert asked with concern as soon as they stepped into the garden.

Melisende stared at Robert, her eyes a bright violet in the fading afternoon light. “I am a little dizzy. I suppose we have been indoors too long.”

Robert nodded. “We had too much wine too.” He slipped his hand through hers and held her fingers tightly, leading her into the depths of the garden. “Come. You will feel better now.”

Melisende and Robert passed through the veranda and walked out into the terraced garden. Everywhere around, there were stunning arrangements of unusual and beautiful flowers and the exotic green trees. They stopped near the pond and sat down on a bench. They sat quietly, gazing at the water and the dark sky, breathing in the fresh sea air. They could hear only the distant sounds of the music Blondel was playing for the guests, as well as the twittering of birds and the rustle of the wind.

Melisende was peering into the gardens, keeping her hand in his strong clasp. She inhaled and let her breath out slowly, visibly relaxing as she did so. " _Darkness and secrets…_ It is so romantic!” she jested, but her face was serious. “Though not in our case.”

Robert was silent for a while before he started speaking in a low voice. “Indeed.”

“Robert, there is something between us that cannot be easily forgotten.”

"It is indeed very difficult to forget many things; definitely not you, Melisende.” He sighed heavily. “Do you remember the last time when you were so close to me? I wanted to see you so much.”

She swung her gaze to him. “You intended to tell me that you never loved me.”

“Yes.” Robert hung his head. “I wanted you to know the truth – my heart belongs to the woman who will never be able to marry me.” He let out a sigh of grief. “Never ever.”

“You could have told me that you could never fall in love with me before… we started out relations.”

“Melisende," Robert called in a voice woven of regret and remorse, “I feel guilty that I misled you. You of all the women I have ever met have never deserved that.”

She smiled moodily. “I also misled myself that I loved you, Robert.”

“Yes, you did.” He heaved a sigh. “I told you that you didn’t love me.”

“And you were right.”

Robert kissed her on the forehead; it was a friendly kiss, without passion and any romantic intentions. “I wanted to apologize to you for misleading you and for causing you pain if it ever happened.”

She smiled at him. “Don’t worry and don’t blame yourself, Robert. I understand everything.”

Robert reminisced, “In one Saracen raid near Ascalon, I saved King Richard’s life, but I was severely injured on my right side. Everyone thought that I would die, but I survived against all odd. The king ordered me to go home to recover, like he had sent home Robin a year earlier.” He averted his eyes. “On the way to Normandy, I changed my route and went to Paris, where spent two weeks with the woman who is my only true love; she again broke my heart; she did that many times.” He swallowed heavily. “I left her in Paris and traveled to Normandy, to Caen, where I met you.”

"And you decided that I could have helped you forget your pain," Melisende finished for him.

Robert turned to face her, his expression shamefaced and apologetic. “Melisende, I spent six years in the Holy Land, surrounded by death, bloodshed, and destruction. Then I finally returned home: I felt drained emotionally, was recovering from that wound, and disillusioned by holy war.” He smiled with a radiant smile as his mind floated to the day when he had met Melisende in Normandy. “You were a beautiful girl of fourteen when we departed to Acre, and I was so happy to see you after the years of my absence.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “I was stunned to discover that a little beautiful girl became the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my entire life.”

“Oh, Lord Robert, was I really so beautiful and so tempting?” She smiled, showing her white teeth.

Robin winked at her. He tenderly brushed a strand of red-gold hair from her forehead. “Lady Melisende, you know very well that every man ceases breathing and is at your feet as soon as he sees your face,” he answered teasingly, smiling. “Many people say that you are as beautiful as Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine was in her youth, and I agree with them.” He let out a sigh. “You are much more beautiful than my only true love.” He sighed again. “You seduced me with all your beauty and charms, and I quickly fell for you. And I snatched your innocence from you.”

Melisende shook her head. “Robert, don’t blame yourself,” she repeated the words she had already told him. “I was charmed by you. You are the most handsome man I have ever seen.”

He raised a brow.  “And Robin? Isn’t he handsome?”

Melisende rolled her eyes, knowing that he was teasing her. “Robin is very handsome, and his light charm is overpowering – it is exactly what I like in men. I have never been attracted to dark and dangerous men, and there is such a pleasing lightness about you and Robin.”

Robert chuckled. “Well, I have already realized that you like Robin. Girls like him a lot.”

She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “There is no need to remind me that Robin and you are ladies men.” Her expression evolved into the one of significance. “But I had met you before I accidentally stumbled into Robin of Locksley in the moonlit garden in Limassol.” She looked away a melancholic smile. “I sought meetings with you. I was sure that I fell in love with you.”

He assumed, “You thought that I was the love of your life, but it wasn’t true.”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “And it was mostly my fault that you gave in to your charms.”

“I would say we both are responsible for our affair.”

For some time, they sat in a solemn silence, listening to the distant sounds of the melodies Blondel was playing in the great hall, watching a bird swoop down into the trees, disappear for a few moments before it darting back out with the second bird chasing after it.

“You made me so happy, Robert. You didn’t love me, but it was so good to be with you,” she spoke softly. Yet, simmering beneath her optimism and joy was a fear that their secret would ruin her life and marriage.

“It was good for me to be with you,” Robert replied. “I never believed I would ever experience anything like moments of joy and bliss which you gave me.”  He looked into her eyes. “Thank you, Melisende.”

Melisende smiled. “So we are friends, right?”

Robert smiled back. “Yes, we are.”

She lowered her head, looking at the ground. “My wedding night is today.”

“You are worried that you are not a maid,” he surmised.

She raised her eyes, staring into his eyes. “Yes.”

A dark shadow crossed his features. “I offered you to talk to Robin three months ago. I myself could have told him everything about us, but you assured me that you would solve the problem.”

“So far I have been a coward.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

He stiffened. “I should have talked to him a long time ago.”

“Robin won’t be happy to learn the truth,” she voiced her fears, shifting slightly on the bench. 

Robert wanted to dispel Melisende fears and assist her in winning Robin’s respect, adoration, and eventually love. “Do you want me to give you a good advice that will make Robin yours forever?” He gave her a mischievous look, and she nodded at him, not quite understanding what he was talking about.

Melisende glanced at him curiously. “Tell me, Robert.” Her eyes were pleading him. “Please tell me.”

“Tell Robin the truth tonight, when he comes to you for the wedding night,” he advised. “Tell Robin everything about us; only the truth – the absolute truth.”

Her face changed into horror. “Robin will reject me! He will insult me! He will hate me!”

He shook his head. “No, he won’t.”

Melisende blinked. Her face had a strangely hopeful look, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. “No man can ever be happy to learn that his new wife was… with his best friend.”

There was a benevolent smile on his face. “Melisende, you don’t know Robin well, like I do know him,” he said sincerely, his eyes compassionate and kind, not mischievous and mocking as often. “I met Robin at Prince Richard’s court twelve years ago, and we became friends. Robin and I are alike in many ways, and our characters are so similar that at times I myself don’t believe it can be true.”

She smiled faintly. “I have noticed that.”

“I swear Robin doesn’t care whether you are a maid or not,” he declared with conviction. “On the contrary, he doesn’t like maids. He has never taken a maid as a lover, except for only one case in his life. He is a man of honor, and, besides, he doesn’t like inexperienced women just for dalliances.”

“I am his wife, not a lover,” she objected.

“It doesn’t matter,” Robert continued with the same confidence. “Robin will listen to you, and he will understand you. Most importantly, he doesn’t want to deal with maids anymore.”

An amazed Melisende asked, “Why?”

Robert turned his gaze toward the horizon in the distance. “Robin was betrothed to Lady Marian Fitzwalter of Knighton twice. He loved very much since adolescence,” he began in sorrowful tones. “She broke their first betrothal before he went on the Crusade. They parted on very bad terms more than seven years ago. Robin proposed to marry Lady Marian before leaving Nottingham, but she was so angry that she wished him to never come back and threw her ring in his face. She was blinded by anger.”

Her face contorted in a shocked, silent scream. “Wished him to never come back? Is she mad?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Why was she angry at him for his desire to serve the king and country?”

Robert laughed. "Lady Marian believed that Robin craved glory," he answered. "And Robin was an utter fool because he didn't explain to her that he wanted to become a man, not a spoiled boy lord as other nobles called him. He felt that he was unworthy of her love. He didn't tell her that he wanted to become a respected man through fighting for England and our liege." He laughed almost tragically. "Actually, I had the same thoughts when I joined the Crusade. I was so naïve, like Robin."

She scowled. “But she wished him to never come back!”

He made a helpless gesture. “Lady Marian didn’t want Robin dead. She said those words in despair and anger which clouded her judgment,” he explained. “In anger, we often say things we don’t mean and don’t want to say.” He rubbed his temples. “Lady Marian loved Robin, but she wanted him to stay and live in Locksley for the rest of his life. She never understood him completely. She never looked into his soul, although I have to say that Robin never gave her a chance to do this.”

Melisende smiled charmingly. “Isn’t it familiar, Lord Leicester?”

Robert grinned sheepishly. “It is my case, too, my lady.”

“Robin is always guarding his true emotions, like you, Robert.”

“Yes.”

“And what happened to Lady Marian?” She needed to know more about Robin’s personal life.

“When Robin came back to England, they eventually reconciled,” he continued. “Robin proposed to Marian when he lived in the forest, and she accepted. She told him that she loved him.” Then his face evolved into resentment. “But, in the end, she broke his heart.”

“What did she do?”

Robert ran his eyes across the garden; then he looked back at Robin’s wife. “Lady Marian of Knighton seems to have been _torn between Robin and another man, a very bad man_. She married Sir Guy of Gisborne, who once tried to kill King Richard and wounded Robin. She didn’t even break her second betrothal to Robin before marrying Robin’s sworn enemy. She betrayed him in the worst possible way.”

Melisende’s face twisted in apparent disgust. A shot of anger went through her. “Good God, Lady Marian seems to have lost her mind! She rejected Robin, a loyal, handsome, brave, and honest man, and married a despicable and evil traitor!” She raised her voice, and her tone hardened. “It would have been better if she stayed at home, supervising the household and doing her embroidery instead of playing with the feelings of two men and breaking hearts of those who love her!”

Robert shook his head disapprovingly. “Melisende, you are too harsh.”

“No, I am not harsh at all!” She cast her eyes down, at the lawn.

“You don’t know Lady Marian. She is not a bad lady,” he defended Robin’s former betrothed. “I think that she is a very interesting and beautiful creature.”

She gazed back at him. “When did you meet her?”

He looked somewhat wistful as his mind traveled back to the distant past. “When Robin and I were fifteen, I spent with Robin the whole autumn and winter in Huntingdon and in Locksley,” he responded flatly. “I often met Lady Marian at Locksley Manor when she came there with her father, Sir Edward, who managed Robin’s estates. Her father and she also came to court in Poitiers when Robin lived there.”

“Well, it is enough time to assess a person.”

“I didn’t like her very much, although she was besotted with Robin, and he returned her affection.”

“Why didn’t you like her?” she asked interestedly.

Robert ran his hand through his hair; he drew a deep breath. “I respected Lady Marian, and I saw that she was a remarkable girl, I would say a unique girl, but I have never considered her a suitable match for Robin. Eight years ago, I shared with Robin my opinion: I recommended that he don’t propose to Marian, but he didn’t listen to me and was rejected by her.”

Melisende cocked her head to one side. “They are incompatible?”

Robert glanced around, his eyes skimming carelessly over the garden. As he turned his gaze to her, he assessed astutely. “I have always thought that Lady Marian would be unable to understand Robin, at least not until she grew up and matured enough to be able to deal with the intricacies of Robin’s inner world” He sighed. “When Robin and I fought in the Holy Land, Robin remembered her and wondered whether she had married someone or not. I recommended that he forget about her. I told him that she didn’t deserve him.” He grimaced. “And I was right. Anyway, what is done cannot be undone.”

Melisende looked shocked, the dark flame of anger coruscating in her eyes. She burst out accusingly, “For the love of Heaven, Robert, tell me what Lady Marian could find in this traitor if she was betrothed to the most handsome, most charming, most loyal, most compassionate, and noblest man on earth – to Robin!” Her facial features hardened like a stone statue. “It seems that this lady hurt Robin very much.”

“You are again very harsh and unfair,” Robert gave a slight rebuke. With his pale green eyes glittering, he stared into her stormy violet eyes. “Lady Marian broke Robin’s heart, but he also broke hers when he left for war. They are even-steven in the matter of breaking each other’s hearts.” He lowered his voice to a throaty whisper. “But I resent her for what she did to Robin.”

Her heart constricted in pain. “She wronged him.”

“Melisende, they could be together, but they both made many mistakes,” Robert concluded in a steady voice. “Robin was a fool and did rather many… questionable things in their difficult relationship. He broke her heart when he left and chose war. He… always chose his duty over his love for her, and I understand why she didn’t want to be with Robin and wait for the king’s return.” He sighed. “But Robin is my best friend, and I am on his side because Marian’s marriage to Guy of Gisborne caused Robin great pain.”

“I understand.”

“Robin and Marian are not saints, and they both are at fault for the destruction of their relationship.”

“Only one party cannot be guilty.”

Robert grew serious. “And that’s why, Melisende, you cannot hurt Robin again. If you don’t tell Robin the truth tonight, you will make him disappointed in you later.” He smiled. “If you confess the truth to him and disclose my name as your lover, Robin will accept this, and everything will be fine.”

She nodded numbly. “I will do that.”

Robert glanced attentively at Melisende and took her hands in his. “Melisende, you possess a great talent to understand human nature much better than others can.” He squeezed her hand. “You understand Robin so well, although you have known him only for several months. You see through Robin’s mask of the golden boy – you can see what he keeps in his heart.”

“I am trying very hard,” she admitted humbly.

He chuckled. “It is your natural talent to understand people,” he praised. “I believe that you can make Robin happy or at least content in your marriage.”

She dipped her head in acknowledgment. “I will do everything I can to make Robin happy.”

His eyes became somber; his gaze turned penetrating. “Never hurt Robin. He deserves to be happy,” he whispered. “Tell Robin the truth about us. Only the truth.”

“I will do that,” she murmured. “Tonight.”

Robert gazed into her eyes. “It is the right decision, Melisende. And it is the right thing to do.” A faint smile touched his lips. "If you confess to having an affair with me, you will make Robin respect you, and he will be proud of you for your honesty and bravery. Believe me that he won’t reject you.”

Melisende wasn’t optimistic as optimistic as he was. “I hope so much that he won’t start loathing me.”

He smiled heartily. “You do like Robin, don’t you?” It sounded as a statement, not a question.

"I do like Robin. I do want him," Melisende spoke passionately, the color high in her cheeks. "Robert, you are right: I want Robin so much that I can hardly breathe when he is close to me."

"But you wish you didn't feel so,” Robert presumed.

Melisende gave a nod. “Yes, I can't deny this. I am drawn to Robin like a moth to a flame. I feel that if I give in to the temptation and passion I feel for him, I will burn alive in the flames of this passion.” She touched her forehead, and she gasped as her mind replayed the image of Robin’s handsome face and his cheeky grin. “But no matter how many times I tell myself that I shouldn’t feel a great affection for him, I can't help but feel it. It is as natural as life and death, sunset and nightfall, hell and paradise.”

Her words made him smile. "Melisende, you are falling for my best friend.”

“I love Robin of Locksley,” she confessed. She took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heart, and then went on. “ _I love Robin in a hundred different ways_ – I love him for his bravery, foolhardiness, compassion, kindness, arrogance, annoyance, righteousness, honesty, madness, and theatrics – for all his strengths and weaknesses.” A veil of profound sadness enveloped her. “And you are right that I never felt something like that for you.” She placed a hand on her chest, to her heart. “What I feel for Robin is something deeper, much deeper. It takes all my heart.”

Robert smiled at her. “It is exactly what I thought. You are in real love with my best friend.”

“But he will never love me back!” She cried out, her expression a cameo of sheer sorrow.

He let out a rich chuckle. “Robin cares for you a lot. He is greatly attracted to you.” He paused, looking at her with a grin on his face. “Believe me that Robin will fall in love with you. Be patient and give him time. Become his friend and confident.”

She doubted that he was right. “Why do you think that he will love me?”

“I know my friend very well,” Robert declared emphatically. She needed reassurance, and he was going to give her it. ”I think that memories of her are going to continue having a strong effect on Robin. Yet, he will eventually fall out of love with her, or he will be able to love you, not forgetting her. He will surely love you, maybe in his own way and not with all his heart, but he will love you.”

Melisende shook her head miserably, and, despite herself, she felt tears flood her eyes. “I don’t know, Robert. I want to believe you, but I doubt that you are right.”

Robert lifted his hand to her face and brushed away the tears from her cheeks. “Melisende, please don’t cry, my dear! Believe me that Robin will reciprocate your feelings quite soon,” he persuaded her, his voice gentle and confident. “He is already very disappointed in Marian. And disappointment and betrayal cool off passion, and they also kill love. Love runs out in the end.”

“Thank you, Robert,” she responded with gratitude. “Can we go back now?”

He offered her his hand and helped her to her feet, smiling at her all along. “Yes, we should return to the great hall until they remarked our absence.”

Melisende managed a smile. “Of course.”

Robert flashed a cheering smile. “Everything will be alright. Just do what I recommended. Don’t be afraid and be honest.” He winked at her. “You will see that it will work in your favor.”

She jested, “You will always be a cheeky rogue, Lord Leicester?”

He laughed jovially. “Always, my dear lionet.”

When Robert and Melisende returned to the great hall, dancing began, and the floor was immediately occupied by the enthusiastic dancers. More refreshments were brought for the guests who were not dancing.

Robin extended his hand to Melisende and led her into the first set of steps, and then passed her to the Earl of Leicester, soon again meeting with his wife on the dance floor. He whirled Melisende about the dance floor with the grace that was usual for him and was present in all his other motions; then he gathered her back to him again. His wife laughed, and Robin laughed back, effervescing with joy, his eyes sparkling. Surrounded by his friends and being so close to the beautiful, desirable lady he had married, Robin left his emotional guard down and laughed, as if he had forgotten all his pain and troubles.

Robin danced very well, and he took special pleasure in making some intricate figures. Sometimes a hand would clasp his meaningfully, but he was too involved in the dance to notice it. In one of the dances, Robin partnered Lady Isabella of Jerusalem, his one-time lover in the garden of the Castle of Limassol when he had been involved in a scandalous duel with Henry de Champagne. She looked beautiful and seductive, as always, resplendent in a gown of red silk embroidered with little golden lioncels.

“I have heard you have reached a truce with my Henry,” Isabella of Jerusalem said to Robin as they met, parted and turned. “I have to confess that I was astonished.”

Robin bowed to her slightly. “Your husband and I have many important things to do together, Lady Isabella. We don’t need scandals, public taunting, and bickering.”

Isabella smiled demurely. “It is important for peace in the Holy Land.”

“Yes, exactly,” he confirmed, jerking away from her a fraction.

“Huntingdon,” Isabella addressed him, making him pause and half turn to her. She smiled provocatively and spoke in a sultry tone. “Have you ever thought to repeat what we had in Limassol? Henry doesn’t care for me. He was simply angry that you became my lover, and he was also drunk that evening.”

Robin cleared his throat, fighting the urge to walk away from her. “It will never happen again.”

Her smile faded. “Why?”

“I am a married man, Lady Isabella,” he replied coldly. “With your permission, I will leave you.”

In a few moments, Robin met Lady Catherine de Mathefelon, also his former lover, on the dance floor. He hoped that Melisende would dismiss the lady from her service, for the fact that he had once slept with one of his wife’s ladies-in-waiting was embarrassing. Catherine looked lovely and seductive in her eccentric silver and blue silk gown that was cut indecently low, with the sleeves trimmed with light blue lace.

"Lord Huntingdon, you are such a lucky man that you married Lady Melisende,” Lady Catherine de Mathefelon remarked as they began to perform a new path of steps.

“I know,” Robin said briefly.

“Huntingdon, if you need a lover, you can always come to me.”

“I am not intending to betray my wife.” Robin was irritated by her advances.

"Oh." A disappointed Catherine stifled a groan of frustration.

“It is true, Lady Catherine.”

As they again approached one another to perform a new figure, Catherine spoke to Robin. “I understand why you don’t need mistresses, Lord Huntingdon! Lady Melisende is a treasure, and any man would be happy to have a wife such as her! She is too beautiful and too bright for this world for a mere mortal!” She paused as she swayed giddily on her toes in a dance. “But I will miss you, Sir Robin.”

A thin, ironic smile touched Robin's mouth. "You will see that my reformation from an unmarried cheeky rogue to a faithful cheeky husband will be progressing smoothly and nicely."

"Lady Melisende possesses a treasure too," Catherine said, tugging hard at Robin's sleeve in a dance. “I would have done everything to have a husband like you, Huntingdon.”

Robin rolled his eyes; then his expression changed into seriousness. “Lady Catherine, believe me, you wouldn’t envy my wife if you knew me as much as she will eventually do.”

Catherine gave him a startled glance, but in the next moment, a tender smile came over her face, her eyes full of hunger for him. Then she swung her gaze to another man as another turn separated them, and Robin was relieved that he didn’t have to tolerate her advances. He was glad that they were separated in a dance.

While he was dancing, Robin’s eyes were searching for his wife in the chamber. His heart thundered in his chest as his eyes met Melisende’s eyes, for the sight of the beautiful temptress – the goddess of beauty and wit – make him wish to hold her in his arms and taste the sweetness of her luscious lips. His whole being was efflorescent with a sense of calm and tranquility for some mysterious reason he couldn’t fathom.

§§§

The banquet continued in a festive and luxurious fashion. The smell of wine, the sounds of music, and a hubbub of voices mingled with scents of the violets and lilies spread throughout the great hall. Robin and Melisende met each other in the next dance; as notes of chanson resonated, they twirled around the floor gracefully. While the newly-weds danced beautifully, all eyes were glued to them as the guests watched them in reverent admiration. After the dance was over, Melisende and Robin retired to a nearby alcove.

Robin’s eyes locked with Melisende’s, and he flashed a smile. “You dance divinely, Melisende.”

“You danced with Lady Isabella and Lady Catherine,” Melisende said dryly, ignoring his compliment.

He grinned boyishly. “Can I hope that you are jealous?”

She frowned, licking her lips as if teasingly. “Huntingdon, you think I care?”

“Your frown proves your jealousy,” he returned.

She folded her arms over her too-ample breasts that were thankfully shielded from his gaze and from all the audience by her splendid wedding gown. “Oh, well, I just had something in my eye!”

“Yeah, then so be it.” Robin eyed Melisende and released a deep sigh. He wanted his wife as much as he wanted only one woman – Marian. He even wanted her more than he had wanted Marian in the woods. He needed her for himself, not as simply one more distraction from his painful memories.

“Hmm,” she said. “That’s true.”

“I will never betray my marriage vows with Lady Isabella of Jerusalem, or Lady Catherine de Mathefelon, or with anyone else,” he said meaningfully. “Isabella and Catherine… are lovely, polite, elegant, and noble, but emotionally they are as empty as china dolls, or so it seems.”

Melisende chuckled. “I cannot believe that you are going to be faithful to me.”

He grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. “I have no lovers,” he admitted.

Robin Hood was the savior of England and the people’s hero, but he also was a courier. He was a normal young man, and on such a magnificent feast he indulged himself in dancing and gambling. He danced with Melisende, her ladies-in-waiting, Isabella of Jerusalem, and many other women. When Robin didn’t dance, he was involved in endless discussions about the expected peace negotiations with Saladin. In his early youth, it became a custom for Robin to play cards with Robert de Beaumont, and today they again played together. Blondel continued singing love songs, sitting near King Richard and Henry de Champagne.

Soon Robin escaped from his war comrades to Will, Djaq, and Little John. As he looked over his friends, he smiled heartily. “Djaq and Will, I am happy to see you.”

“We couldn’t be in the church, but we come here. Well, you know,” Djaq began apologetically.

Robin gave a nod. “I understand.”

“Thank you,” Djaq said pleasantly.

“Congratulations, Robin. All the best to you and your wife,” Will said with a small smile, looking at Melisende and Richard. “She is very beautiful.”

Robin smiled. “Yes, she is.”

“You like her?” Djaq asked, curious.

“I am attracted to her.” Robin meant what he had said: he was genuinely fond of his young wife.

“He means it,” Little John said.

“Yes, I do. Do you have words of wisdom for me today?” Robin asked, winking at the young Saracen.

Djaq gave him a sweet smile. “Surely, you have already received a surfeit of those!”

Robin chuckled. “I certainly know what I must do to ensure loyalty to Richard of the barons in Bordeaux. And I definitely know what I cannot allow myself to do as the husband of cousin royal lady.”

In the next moment, Much appeared as if out of the blue. He put a hand on Robin’s shoulder and burst into a cheerful tirade. “Robin, Lady Melisende is very beautiful! She will be a dutiful wife to you, and you must be a good husband to her! Don’t betray her with other women who are drawn to you like bees to honey. Please don’t behave like you did in Limassol and on the Crusade, Robin. You are married to King Richard’s cousin! You cannot disgrace the king, your wife, and yourself!”

Robin bristled, “Much, I am aware of my responsibility before the king and the Plantagenet family!”

“Sorry, Robin,” a discomfited Much answered, hurt that Robin again reprimanded him. 

Robin’s expression softened, and he smiled. “I am sorry too, Much.”

Much smiled softly. “It is fine, Robin.

“Just be at peace, Robin,” John said.

Will looked solemn. “I wish you to forget all betrayals and pain. Don’t dwell on them.”

Robin’s eyes turned cold and piercing. “I gave myself a word that I would forget Marian. She can be happy with Gisborne if she wants this,” he supplied in a steel tone.

“Trust God, Robin. He never leads you to a path that is not meant for you,” Djaq mused. “Your past was often not very bright, but I hope that you would find peace. And my advice, for what it is worth, is to wish you to let everything unfold in its own time.”

Robin smiled gratefully. “You have always been full of wisdom, Djaq.”

“Oh, yes, she is a fount of wisdom,” Will agreed. “For this and many other things I do love her.”

Carter's voice came as though through a mist as nobody noticed the young blonde man approaching them from the back. “Robin, I wish you to have a life is long and happy and rich of events. Let this union be just the beginning of your happiness.” He smiled with a crooked smile.

Robin looked at all his friends in turns. His face lit up with a smile of warmth and boyish charm. “Thank you, my friends. For everything.”

“We are Robin Hood!” John proclaimed.

“What?” Carter was baffled.

“Just say this, Carter,” Much prompted.

“We are Robin Hood!” the others echoed, except for Robin.

“We are Robin Hood,” Robin uttered after a short pause. A sudden surge of happiness filled his heart; he loved all of his friends dearly and no longer felt lonely.

The wedding feast was over. Darkness fell upon Acre, but the Citadel of Acre was bright with a profusion of lights from candles to torches. The heavens were full of shining stars, and a full moon, gorgeous and mysterious, made the dark waters of the sea and the landscape fabulous. A light breeze wafted into the open windows of the citadel, bringing the scent of roses and the sweet song of seabirds.

In her sumptuous chambers, Melisende waited for Robin to come for the wedding night, her heart tumultuous with emotions. The room smelled of jasmine and roses. The bedchamber was decorated in an opulent style, and all was blue and white, except for a pair of red lacquer cabinets that added a warmer note to the environment. Three walls were whitewashed, and the other was hung with blue brocade. A massive mahogany bed that was hung with blue brocade embroidered draperies dominated the chamber. Several brocade-covered high-back chairs and a brocade-covered settee stood along one of the walls.

Melisende leaned on the windowsill, fighting off the giddiness that overwhelmed her and peering into the darkness that shrouded the city of Acre a black cloak. Her body was quivering with fear mingled with anticipation. She loved Robin and hoped that he was at least physically attracted to her. Richard told her that her marriage might have ceased to be purely political, and she wanted that to happen.

She wanted the wedding night to be simple and beautiful, but there was something that could ruin her life and marriage. She had a secret from Richard and everyone – she was not a virgin.

Melisende had to tell Robin that there was a man who had taught her the art of physical love, and even now every part of her still trembled with intoxicating sensations at the memory of her passionate nights in Normandy with Robert de Beaumont. But tonight it was a matter not only of the marriage consummation: she loved Robin wholeheartedly, and she wanted to belong to him forever. She feared that her new husband would repent of marrying a woman who had lost her innocence with his dear friend.

Melisende was moved out of her morbid thoughts when the doubled oak doors of her room were flung open and Robin, already dressed in a long blue brocade robe, appeared at the doorway.

"Melisende," Robin called quietly.

She swung around and sank into a deep, gracious curtsey. “Robin,” she murmured, her head bowed.

“Please never curtsey to me. I am your husband, not your owner.”

Melisende felt the heat rise up to her cheeks. “I have to tell you something.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “If it doesn’t spoil my mood, then speak please.”

“I am afraid to disappoint you. It is something very serious.”

“Pray tell me what is going on in this pretty little head of yours.”

“Robin, there are things you don’t know.”

“Don’t fear me,” Robin murmured. “Never fear to talk to me.”

Breathing out a sigh of resignation, Melisende hung her head. Her legs were weak, and she sank onto a brocade-covered chair before a dressing-table. “Robin, I… I…” She passed a trembling hand across her face.

He took a step to her. “What?”

Melisende shivered. His silken, gentle voice spoke from somewhere so close to her that she seemed to feel his warm breathing on her neck. She slowly raised her face and saw Robin standing a few steps from her. She rose to her feet and leaned against him, and his arm enfolded her to his chest.

Gazing into his eyes, she began in a wavering voice, “I… I want to make a confession.” She trailed off as the words died away on her lips. She feared to see his befuddled expression, or worse – his disappointment and perhaps even abhorrence that she wasn't a pure woman he had probably wanted to have as his wife. The truth was always better than the lie, and she wouldn’t deter the confession. She could feel the tension and nervousness lowering as she inhaled and exhaled slowly. “ _I am not a maid_ ,” she declared in all honesty.

The intensity of his gaze was vaguely unsettling as Robin contemplated her lovely features in silence. He was astonished and puzzled, and he was strangely relieved as well. After Marian’s betrayal, he didn’t want to deal with maids. As his mind drifted back to Marian, he thought that it was almost comical that the situation in his marriage mirrored it in Marian’s marriage to Guy. Robin was also immensely proud of Melisende.

Robin laughed outright. “Yeah, let me guess. You think that I will be displeased?”

She gave a slight nod. “I thought that you would reject me.”

He shook his head determinedly.  “Never! How and when did it happen, if you feel you can tell me?”

All her unvoiced agony was reflected in her eyes. “I… I… thought that I had loved him and that we would probably get married. Later, I realized that I didn’t love him, and we broke up. I know that it was not decent to give him my maidenhead, but it cannot be undone, and I am sorry for that.”

“Was this man your former betrothed?”

She sighed tearfully. “I was betrothed twice, but Richard dissolved these arrangements. But this man… was not one of them.”

“I don’t judge you, for I have no right to do this,” he said softly. “Yet, I want to know who he is.”

She sighed heavily. She was ashamed, bitterly ashamed of what she was going to say, but she had to do that. “He is… your close friend… He is–” Her voice came to a halt.

“Who is he?” His eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh, Robin!” Melisende cried out, blushing to the roots of her hair. As a wealth of powerful emotions overwhelmed her, her face paled with fright, and she began trembling. “I am ashamed of myself. I am so ashamed… He is… Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester.”

His mouth tightened into a thin line. “Did Robert seduce you?” His voice was tense.

She shook her head. “No, he didn’t. I tempted him as I believed that I loved him.” She sighed deeply. “He never told me anything about love. On the contrary, he said that I was merely infatuated with him.”

Robin pursed his lips. “And yet, he took your innocence?”

She entreated in a breaking voice, “Robin, please don’t hate Robert! I seduced him!”

“I think I know how it happened,” he said with pensive slowness and sighed heavily. “Robert and you had love affair when he was in Normandy, after he had been wounded and sent back home.”

She gave a nod. “Yes.”

“Robert loves another woman. I know this sad story very well,” he apprized coldly.

“I know. He shared with me his heartbreaking love story.”

“Even more heartbreaking than my own story,” Robin noted.

“Oh.” She twisted her fingers.

He eyed her with amusement. "Well, it is unexpected."

Her cheeks turned crimson. “Do you hate me?”

Robin didn’t intend to be embroiled in arguments with his wife. She needed his understanding and some reassurance, not reprimands. “No, I don’t hate you, and I am not ashamed of you.” His face split into a grin. “I adore your honesty and candor. You made me very proud tonight.”

Bewilderment was etched across her features. “Are you kidding me?”

“Melisende, I am not joking. I admire your courage and honesty.”

Her face brightened. “That is unexpected, given that I was with Robert de Beaumont.”

Robin’s lips curled in a smile of brilliance. With a feather-light touch, he traced her jawline, admiring the excellence of its form, delighting in the feel of her soft, alabaster skin beneath his fingertips. “We are grown-up people, and we do realize that we cannot change the past,” he murmured.

She gave him a tremulous smile, her eyes large and innocent. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” He smiled, but then a shadow crossed his face. “Just one thing.”

“What?” Her hand quivered in his.

His features suddenly hardened, and his smile disappeared. “Never betray me with Robert; not with him,” he admonished, narrowing his eyes at her. “It doesn’t matter what happened in the past. But don’t forget that Robert is my best friend… among nobles. I love him, and I don’t want… to lose his friendship.”

“Forgive me, Robin,” she whispered hoarsely. "I will never betray you, I swear.”

“I believe you,” he replied softly. “Does someone else know?”

Melisende shook her head, her violet eyes growing stormy. “Leicester and I were very careful. It seems that no one knew about us.”

“Richard doesn’t know, right?”

“No, Robin, he doesn’t.”

“And he doesn’t need to know. I don’t want Richard to be angry with you and Robert.” A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “You are my wife and Robert is my best friend, and I do wish well to each of us.”

Melisende swallowed hard. “Richard will furious if he learns the truth.”

“That’s right. He will be very angry,” he soothed.

Melisende paled, the blood drained from her cheeks. “Oh, Robin...”

Robin wrapped his arms around her, feeling her body tremble and holding her close to him. “Melisende, calm down, please. You did nothing wrong: you thought that you loved Robert, and if people in love become close, there is nothing bad in this. Believe me that I don’t care that you are not a virgin. I comprehend the tender vibrations of a woman's heart, and I don’t blame you for anything.”

She stared at him incredulously. “Really?”

“If you know me better, you will learn that I hate lying. I am grateful for the truth.”

“I will never tell you the falsehood.”

Robin caressed her cheek, and the touch of his calloused fingers seemed softer than the finest silk. “Don’t be afraid of me. It is our wedding night, and I will do nothing to hurt you,” he spoke gently, with a serious air, looking warmly into her eyes. "Are you ready to be with me?”

Melisende wanted to say something, but Robin kissed her on the mouth with such a burning kiss, with all the passion and sophistication of an experienced lover, that she almost fainted in his arms. The kiss was intense, desperate, and ravaging, and he unleashed every bit of his passion he had in their connection. It was full of a longing hunger, and it started a huge bonfire that swept over them and was burning them with flames from heaven. As he deepened the kiss, all-absorbing heat flowed through them in tidal waves.

When they parted, he took her hand and led her to the bed. She nodded her assent, enmeshed in a web of his irresistible male charm. He sat down on the edge and took her to his lap, smiling at her enchantingly. Robin took away the crown of flowers from her head, and then he pulled the pins from her hair, loosening it a little more with each movement. Her long, glorious hair fell in wild disarray around her face and shoulders, and the candlelight turned her red-gold tresses to a halo of shimmering copper. Robin imagined that an immortal goddess – an exceptional and gifted creature of love and passion – was in his arms.

"Melisende, you are exquisite,” Robin murmured in a silken tone, admiring her perfect features. "If Eve was half the beauty you are, it is no wonder that Adam couldn't resist her charms and was doomed!"

Melisende smiled enticingly. Her desire for him was as fierce as a fire in the woods blazing out of control. “Are you feeling doomed, too, Robin?" she whispered, drowning in his blue gaze.

"Yes, I do," he admitted in a deep voice; he wanted her more with every breath he drew.

Robin methodically loosened her gown and unlaced the bodice of her chemise. He slid his hands inside to cup her breasts, then her shoulders, murmuring into her ear all the time tender endearments in Norman-French. After he tugged her breasts free of the material, he bent his head and started lavishing kisses on her throat and her shoulders. Melisende untied his robe and tentatively touched the warm skin of his chest with her fingers. His mouth captured her lips once more while his dexterous fingers teased and caressed and tantalized, evoking heightened sensations of pleasure, delight, and longing deep down in her body.

In between kisses, Melisende often intercepted the lascivious gaze of her husband’s pale blue eyes, a look that foretold great pleasures to come. She was surprised once more how gentle his caresses were, despite him having calloused fingers from archery practice, and she enjoyed the scratch of his stubble against her skin. She wanted him with her entire being, and the pleasing reality was that he desperately wanted her too.

“We are doomed,” Melisende murmured.

Robin looked at her with the lustful appeal in his glowing eyes. “We are doomed to burn in the fire of our passion,” he delivered a speech with a curious sense of pride and satisfaction.

In a frenzy of hot and wild kisses, they hastily slid out of their night clothes and stood nude in front of each other, their skin surprisingly pale, as if the scathing sun of the Holy Land hadn’t touched it. He lifted her and carried her to the bed, placing her on her back. He kissed her on her lips, and then his mouth feasted on the alabaster skin of her throat, moving to her full breasts. She writhed in pleasure as his hands touched her bare flesh until her breaths were ragged gasps.

As she started kissing his chest, Melisende noticed the ugly scar on his left side. She didn’t cringe at the sight of the scarred flesh and instinctively put a hand on his left side, but he brushed it away. She shook her head disapprovingly, then placed it there again, and, this time, he allowed her to examine his side.

“Oh, my Lord,” she whispered, her heart pounding harder. “Who did this to you, Robin?”

Robin shivered at the memory of the Saracen attack. “I was badly wounded, but I saved King Richard.” He swallowed hard. “I returned to England after… that attack… that was not a Saracen raid in reality.” He removed her hand and covered his scar with his palm.

She sucked in her breath as she remembered her conversation with Robert de Beaumont. It was the scar from Guy of Gisborne’s blade. “This scar doesn’t make you less attractive, Robin.” She smiled fondly at him. “Wear your scars proudly, for you took this wound for our king.”

He scrutinized her with penetrating intelligence, as if trying to check her sincerity, before releasing a heavy sigh. “It matters not. This scar reminds me of my failures, and it is an imperfection.”

“You are a fool, Robin of Locksley.” Melisende laughed at him, her hand stroking his curly hair on the nape of his neck. “If it doesn’t matter to you, it matters to me. This scar makes you even more desirable.”

Robin measured her with a distrustful look. “Are you entertaining yourself at my expense?”

She smirked. “Fool, but such a handsome fool! I would want you even with three hundred more scars.”

Melisende entwined her fingers into his hair, pulling his head closer to her, and kissed him. He kissed her back, reveling in the sweetly seductive feel of his mouth across hers and in the heavenly moment. He was kissing her with more hunger and passion, sealing his mouth to hers and tasting her deeply, fully, drinking in her hot breaths and enjoying the exquisite tremor of her body against his. Their lovemaking was beautiful and humbling, passionate and gentle, freedom-giving and possessive all at once; it was like floating in a sea full of undiscovered amorous treasures, their bodies carried on rolling waves of enjoyment.

Robin positioned himself above her and looked into her eyes as he filled her completely. Melisende drew him to her for a searing kiss, and he began to move inside her, at first with slow, rocking motions that grew steadier and faster. She clung to him as if she needed him to breathe, enfolding him tightly within her arms and her legs. For an instant, Robin fantasized that Melisende was Marian, and the invisible hand directed him away from his former betrothed as he thrust into his wife harder and faster with each of his strokes. Once or twice more, images of Gisborne embracing Marian infiltrated his mind, and he sought the escape and consolation in his wife’s gorgeous body, and somehow those visions grew dim and blurry.

Lying in Robin’s arms after their lovemaking, Melisende thought how happy she was. In spite of her knowledge about Robin’s experience with women, she still didn’t expect that he would be so passionate with her after the revelation about her liaison with the Earl of Leicester. She was delighted that Robin was so skilled in the art of love: he could please even the most wanton courtesan in bed; he was a curious and gentle, passionate and considerate lover, whose passion gave a sweet, lingering pleasure before exploding in a crescendo of spiraling electrical shocks racing through them. Now Melisende loved him more than ever.

A content Robin silently watched his sleeping wife, a mass of her red-gold hair streaming down her shoulders to her hips. He felt free of all the pain and fears that had accumulated in him during the past months; for the first time in many months, he was able to breathe with full lungs. He had a strange feeling of freedom welling up in him: Melisende was like an emissary who guided him from darkness to light. His new wife had a benevolent effect on his spirits, _at last, he was at peace, and he was content_.

§§§

Sheriff Vaisey and his companions rode through the English countryside to the south. In Portsmouth, they met Prince John’s mysterious assassin – Archer who proved his identity by showing to the sheriff the prince’s letter stamped with the Plantagenet royal seal. They boarded the ship in Portsmouth and crossed the English Channel. They didn’t travel through Normandy, Aquitaine, and the other territories of the Angevin Empire: instead, they journeyed through France, Languedoc, Auvergne, and Provence. They stayed at small inns, and, they continued their way with first light, following obscure roads.

There also were ten French mercenaries in Vaisey’s party, each of them a highly skilled swordsman. Vaisey had hired them in France to feel safer and guard the captives, because he didn’t trust Gisborne completely and trusted Archer even less. He didn’t plan to use their services on the mission of killing King Richard, but they could serve him as Marian and Isabella’s guards.

Guy always stayed near Vaisey, frequently casting suspicious glances at the sheriff’s two hostages; Marian and Isabella remained shackled and always were in a grim mood. Guy concluded that his only chance to save their lives was to kill King Richard, Robin Hood, and, by doing this, obtain King John’s highest favor. Then he would have Locksley back and would also be rewarded with the Earldom of Huntingdon.

They reached Provence in five weeks after leaving Nottingham. In the littoral areas of the Mediterranean Sea, a spring brought a bright sunshine, a warm breeze, the smell of sun-warmed earth, a melodic birdsong, lush and green trees, starry nights, and all the natural beauty of the southern land. Sometimes, it was too hot, and horses and horsemen bathed in sweat. In a small village near Marseilles, one of Vaisey’s men left the party to go and investigate the surroundings. They decided to spend the night at one of the inns near Marseilles; Guy almost dragged Marian, still shackled and gagged, from the carriage.

“Sea air, Gisborne. Sea air. Nice.” Vaisey inhaled deeply, a small smile on his face.

“My lord, I have to go,” Guy muttered, holding Marian to himself.

The sheriff looked at Marian, narrowing his eyes at her. “Relax, my little missy. Give Gizzy a little kiss. Right now. He is your husband. You can do this.”

Marian averted her eyes in exasperation; Guy scowled angrily. Isabella was taken out of the carriage by two of the sheriff’s men. Archer stepped out of the carriage after Isabella, looking at her compassionately.

“The assassin is again with Isabella,” Guy growled.

“Gizzy, our assassin fancies your sister,” Vaisey said mockingly, looking at Archer. “Archer, Archy, Archy, do you like this little leper? Oh, you do, I know.” He grinned. “She is a pretty little thing! Very pretty!”

Archer ignored the sheriff, looking at Isabella sympathetically. Marian also gave Isabella a sympathetic glance; she somehow felt closer to Guy’s sister due to the shared sufferings.

“Let go of me! Take your dirty hands off me!” Isabella shrilled.

“Lady Isabella, if you don’t calm down, you won’t have a dinner tonight,” Vaisey warned seriously. “I used to like your fiery temper at first, but now I am fed up.”

“How dare you… treat me like a peasant and a criminal! I am not your prisoner! I have done nothing wrong!” Isabella persisted. “Nothing wrong!”

Archer eyed the sheriff disdainfully. “Lady Isabella deserves a better treatment.”

“I know how to treat my prisoners,” Vaisey dismissed all further questions.

“Don’t interfere,” Guy addressed Archer.

“I don’t like when ladies are abused,” Archer’s steady voice resonated.

“La di da di da! Gisborne’s lepers defied me! I will treat them like caged tigresses as long as it pleases me,” Vaisey said a cold voice. “But, of course, my treatment of them will change one day.”

Guy eyed Archer. Archer looked very young, several years younger than Robin Hood. He was dressed in a white shirt, a brown leather jerkin, dark trousers, and boots weathered from long use. Prince John’s assassin might have passed for an ordinary man if he wasn’t armed with exotic weapons. There was a full quiver of arrows and a recurved Saracen bow on Archer’s back; Guy noticed that all of Archer’s arrows were red feathered, unlike Robin’s white feathered arrows. A long curved Saracen sword was sheathed in the scabbard hanging from Archer’s belt; another short curved sword, freshly polished and gleaming, hung at his wide belt. Guy wondered whether the man was indeed such a great fighter as he presented himself.

Archer was a tall brunette with pale blue eyes. His mouth was well-curved and full, his skin was flawless and fair. He had broad shoulders and strong body, but he wasn’t very muscular; his figure wasn’t as lithe as Robin’s, but not as masculine as Guy’s. He was a handsome cheeky rogue, flashing devil-may-care smiles and grinning mischievously; his eyes sparkled, and his face was a cameo of arrogance and impudence. He would have been a dashing gentleman if he hadn’t behaved so insolently and brazenly. There was the lack of maturity in his features, but at times his cheeky and roguish personality gave way to gentleness and nobility. There was some restraint in his eyes and demeanor, and he apparently was a sly and crafty man.

Guy left Marian and walked to Archer; he gave Archer a murderous glare. “Master Archer, mind your business. Don’t meddle in our affairs.”

“She is a lady and, most importantly, your sister,” Archer parried.

“I know what to do without you,” Guy parried.

Archer grinned. “Certainly, you know everything. You are Sir Guy of Gisborne, after all.” His grin turned impudent. “Ah, I am sorry! I forgot that there is no Gisborne, if I am not mistaken.”

“It is none of your business,” Guy retorted back, feeling a murderous anger welling up inside him.

Archer laughed haughtily. “I am fully aware of your origins.”

Guy wanted to say something, but everyone’s attention centered on Isabella. Shrieking like a wounded animal, Isabella hurled herself upon one of the guards, trying to get either to the sheriff or to Guy. Her attack was so sudden that Vaisey had no time to throw an insult and Guy had no time to stop her. In a few moments, the guards succeeded in restraining Isabella and pinned her to the ground. Helpless but by no means resigned, she spat up in her captor’s face, like an angry cat.

The guards made Isabella stand up. She glowered at Guy And hissed, “Guy of Gisborne, you are not a man of honor as you allow these men to treat your wife and a sister so despicably. These men, the mercenaries, whom the sheriff hired in France, are filthy clodhoppers!”

“You will be fine, Isabella,” Guy assured his sister, but his voice lacked conviction.

“You are a scum,” Isabella shot back.

The sheriff’s men started dragging Isabella inside the building, and, without saying a word, Archer followed them. Guy suspected that Archer would guard Isabella at night, as usual. Guy didn’t like the sudden interest of Prince John’s assassin in Isabella.

Guy carried Marian to the building of the inn. He opened the door with his feet and entered the small room. He placed Marian to the narrow bed and removed the gag from her mouth. Giving her a small sad smile, he swung around and walked over to a table in the corner, intending to pour a glass of water for her.

Marian asked, “You won’t unshackle me?”

Guy returned to the bed and brought a goblet to her dry lips. “I am sorry, but I cannot. Drink this.”

She drank the water. As he took the goblet away and threw it away, she glanced at him, her mind searching for the right words to persuade Guy to turn on Vaisey. "Guy, do you really want to kill the king?” Marian asked after a long silence.

“I have to,” Guy replied; his voice was strangely hoarse.

“But you don’t want to commit regicide.”

“There is nothing I can do to stop the sheriff. Richard and Hood are doomed.”

In the space of an instant, her hopes were dashed. Her stubbornness was the stuff of legend, and she wouldn’t be Marian of Knighton if he didn’t try once more. “Don’t do this,” she stood her ground.

“Why?”

“Richard is our king.” She didn’t ask him to spare Robin’s life to avoid having an argument with him.

Guy approached the bed and sat down on the edge next to Marian, looking into her eyes. “Richard is the King of England, but he is not God. Nonetheless, many people say that kings obtain the right to rule from God. They say that the king is subject to the Lord and the church, not even to the law.” He laughed. “An attempt to depose or to kill any monarch constitutes a sacrilegious act and is against the will of God. Therefore, they claim that regicide is a grave crime.”

“That makes perfect sense.”

“What?” he growled. “Kings invented this fairy-tale! If you don’t agree with the concept of the divine rights, you become a traitor in their eyes.” He smirked. “So, Marian, you think that kings are God incarnates and have the divine right to rule? Thus, kings must never be criticized, abused, deposed, and killed, right?”

“I don’t think that kings have divine power,” Marian objected. “But the assassination of a king is different from the murder of any other man because a king’s station is higher than that of all his subjects.”

A look of surprise came over his face. “It is equivalent to acknowledging kings’ divine rights to rule.”

Ignoring his irony, Marian responded coldly, “I have never thought that kings are God incarnates and saints. I certainly don’t support the idea that kings have divine power.” She paused for an instant. “But I believe that it is not the right of any subject to take his king’s life because a king is born in a royal family, and, thus, it is his birthright to rule his kingdom. Besides, a subject doesn’t give power to a king.”

He laughed. “If you think that it is a king’s birthright to rule, then your opinion is a surrogate of the broader conviction that kings have the throne because God chooses them to rule and gives them power.”

“You are wrong,” she insisted immovably.

“No, I am not.”

She released a deep sigh of frustration. To contemplate regicide was a terrible sin, worse even than killing a father or a mother. She failed to comprehend Guy’s inability to understand the blasphemous nature of this grave crime.  “And you think that your theory gives you the right to murder the rightful King of England?”

Guy huffed in anger. “I didn’t say that.” He rose to his feet and stalked towards the table, where a full decanter of wine stood. He filled a goblet and then came back to his chair; he seated himself there.

She sighed. “At least you don’t justify regicide.”

“I don’t justify myself, but I see nothing wrong in that.”

“So killing King Richard is the right thing to do?” she argued.

“ _Many kings don’t deserve the throne they occupy_.” He drained a goblet of wine and set on the floor; then he folded his arms over his chest. “I hate that kings think they have the right to do whatever they want. They can easily destroy lives of those who displease them if they wish so. They may ruin the life of a young and decent maiden just because they want to satisfy their needs by snatching her innocence. They may abandon their own people and fight pointless wars in the East. They may empty the nation’s treasury and impose unbearable taxes on the starving populace. They may murder in cold blood thousands of people by beating to death, beheading, burning alive, or killing unarmed prisoners in the desert. They even believe that they have the right to rape, and they often commit sadistic murders for pleasure.” He gave a sarcastic laugh. “And they still consider themselves benevolent and magnanimous lords of their realms.”

“Are you talking about King Richard?”

“It is about every king, including King Henry and his son Richard.”

She shook her head slightly. “But it is about King Richard in particular?”

“Naturally.”

“Richard may be not an ideal king, but he is the rightful King of England.”

Guy stood up and poured another goblet of wine for himself; then he came to his seat. “At least Prince John is in England, not in the Holy Land.”

Marian laughed. “Do you really think that John would be a better king than Richard?”

“Prince John may be better or worse than Richard. I just don’t care about that!” he promulgated, sipping wine. “It is a matter of power. If John becomes King of England through the assassination of King Richard or after Richard’s natural death, Vaisey will have absolute power; and he will give me power and wealth.” He smirked. “Maybe I will become a royal favorite, like Robin Hood.”

“Prince John is a pretender and a usurper. Plotting King Richard’s death is high treason. Moreover, it is also a mortal sin to wish a blood brother dead.”

“I know, Marian.”

“Then why do you criticize King Richard and are so defensive of Prince John?”

Guy stared at her seriously, his eyes thoughtful. “I have no love for both King Richard and Prince John. I have always resented King Henry for what he did to my mother and to the Gisbornes. Henry could have defended our legal rights for the Gisborne lands which he himself granted to my father, one of his most loyal knights. My father’s loyalty to Henry meant nothing!”

“Your disrespect of royal authority is a personal thing that must be set aside where the future of the nation is concerned and when your king’s life is in grave peril.”

His features became fixed in utter concentration, and his gaze became sharp and penetrating. “Marian, “I don’t care for any king and for England. I know what kings may do to their subjects and innocents, and I have no respect for them.” He sighed. “I am not a fool or an oaf, like the sheriff calls me. I know that Prince John and Vaisey’s plots are morally wrong and that John will probably be a worse king than Richard.”

She was gladdened by his speech. “Then turn on the sheriff.”

“I cannot do that; not after your attempt on Vaisey’s life.”

A rueful sigh escaped her. “Explain.”

“If I fail to kill King Richard, Vaisey will murder you and Isabella. Don’t you understand, Marian?”

“If you kill Vaisey, nobody will kill me and your sister!”

“Even if I kill the sheriff, there is no way back for me,” he declared with conviction.

She glowered at him. “What?”

Guy explained, “I tried to kill King Richard in Acre, and I am one of the Black Knights. I spent many years with Vaisey because he promised to help me restore my lands and everything Hood had stolen from my family. I tolerated a lot of humiliation from Vaisey only because I envisioned myself a powerful and important man.” He shut his eyes, his feelings concealed behind the cold façade of his face. “It was a long and difficult path for me. I cannot say that I like it. And there is no way back.”

“There is always a way back,” she expostulated.

”No.” A laugh followed. “Only death under the king’s orders.”

“You are wrong.”

“Marian, King Richard will execute me for my crimes, but Prince John will give me power.”

She glared at him accusingly. “So, you prefer to do wrong things to gain power.”

Guy rolled his eyes in annoyance. “I am just trapped.”

Marian dug her nails into her palms as a wave of helpless rage coursed through her. At last, she realized that Guy was not only disloyal to King Richard, but also disrespected the royal authority in general. It was caused by the unfortunate affair of Guy’s mother with King Henry; the old king’s failure to preserve Guy’s rights for the Gisborne lands; his contempt for the Crusades; and his rational assessment of Richard’s policy in England. “Your unhealthy lust for power and wealth has trapped you, leaving you at the mercy of evil men who are obsessed with ambition and unburdened by conscience. But if you turn a blind eye to Vaisey’s treacherous plots, you automatically become a traitor to our country and an enemy of the English people.”

“I became a traitor to King Richard when I tried to kill him in Acre.”

She inhaled sharply. “Look at the matter from another angle: Vaisey may not give you power.”

“He will,” he stated with confidence. “Vaisey will keep his word he gave me.”

“Don’t be so stubborn and willingly blind, Guy. Just imagine that Vaisey can deceive you. What then?”

The dark blue flame flared up in his eyes. “I will kill him then,” he hissed.

Marian rejoiced as her tactic seemed to be working. “What if the sheriff kills you before you begin to want to kill him? He may lead you into a trap and destroy you when you don’t expect this.”

Guy sprang to his feet like a panther; he sucked in a deep breath. “What are you doing, Marian? Is it a new game of yours?” he asked, glaring at her ferociously.

She didn’t blink and held his gaze. “I am just speculating. Are you surprised?”

He laughed bitterly and shook his head. “No, I am not. I would be hardly ever surprised with you. I know that you are capable of doing many things.”

Marian smiled imperturbably into his face. “Guy, I want you to tell me one thing. But please think hard before you answer my question. Will you be able to kill King Richard by your own hand?”

A long, deathlike silence stretched between them. The steel blue eyes locked with the sapphire blue eyes, and the tension was growing stronger and fiercer with every passing moment.

Guy got to his feet and began to pace the room, struggling with the internal tension and the equipoise of doubt. When he finally stopped and seated himself in the chair that he had occupied before.

“I don’t know,” he muttered under his breath.

“You have to think harder than ever before.”

Irritated by her insistence, Guy threw a suspicious look at her. He took a calming breath and erased the grimness from his face. He spoke in a soft voice. “I have to confess that I am kind of relieved that I didn’t kill King Richard in Acre during the previous attempt. I don’t know why I feel so.”

Marian would have crossed herself if she weren’t shackled. “You don’t want to kill the king. You fear to defy Vaisey despite knowing that Vaisey’s actions are treacherous and immoral,” she asserted.

“Marian, don’t speak about these things!” he roared as rage swept over him.

All at once, Marian began to walk to him, her eyes fixed on him and shining with an amazing, mysterious luster. She approached him and rose on her tiptoes. She kissed him soundly and thoroughly. Although he was surprised, to say the least, he reacted immediately: his arms encircled her, and he lifted a hand to stroke her hair where it cascaded onto her shoulder. She clung tightly to him, desperate to memorize the feel of his body and the taste of his lips. However, the kiss lasted for no more than a few moments before it ended, and he set her away from him abruptly, yet staring at her with eyes flashing with hunger.

He reached out for her cheek with his hand, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. “I love you, Marian,” he murmured. “And I want you to love me back.”

Marian was silent for a brief moment, her mind reeling with the confession of what she felt for him. She believed that she loved him; she most definitely felt affection for him and wanted him as a man. Her voice was like a breeze blowing across his face as she told him, “Guy, I… feel the same as well… when I see the other side to you, Guy. I mean when you are not evil.”

Marian smiled at him softly, and raised her hand to his face, brushing back the errant strand of black hair that fell over his forehead. She studied Guy’s features, feeling proud that her husband was such a handsome man. His dark, lethal handsomeness attracted her very much; the torments of his soul made her want to wrap her arms around him, press him to herself, and warm him up with her affection. For a moment, she was lost in Guy’s steel blue eyes, feeling as if she were stepping into a world of dark mysteries she craved to unravel, and she thought that she didn’t want the moment to end.

Suddenly, she shuddered as she remembered the eyes of a different color – the pale blue eyes, the color of a cerulean sky that was unblemished by clouds. She instantly knew that she pictured Robin’s eyes, not Guy’s. Those eyes grinned at her mischievously and merrily; then she envisaged the same eyes, but this time they were full of innate tenderness and deep love for her; but, eventually, they became frosty and stern, full of heartache and pain mingled with disdain as Robin’s words about her betrayal sounded in her mind like a long, long delayed echo. And then, suddenly, Robin seemed distant and formless like a ghostly figure; and yet, he was with her, in her heart, and the image of his face was engraved into her memory forever.

Gazing into Guy’s confused eyes, Marian felt guilty about reminiscing about Robin, but she couldn’t force herself to forget her first love. Marian stiffened in his arms, and Guy cast a questioning look at her. She trembled all over as the image of Robin’s face resurfaced in her mind once more; at this very moment, she could see only Robin, as if she were in Robin’s arms, not Guy’s; then she blinked hard, and the vision of Robin suddenly was gone. Since they had left Nottingham, Marian remembered Robin more often; she wondered whether it was the effect of their journey to the Holy Land.

“Forgive me,” Marian whispered. “I am so sorry.”

A dumfounded Guy questioned, “For what, Marian?”

“For everything,” she whispered.

“I don’t understand you, Marian.”

A heavy silence hung over them as they watched each other.

After a long pause, Marian made another attempt to talk sense into him. “Guy, you are a decent man. You are not a killer.” She paused and sighed deeply. She was very nervous, and the blood drained from her face, but she looked calm. “Turn on the sheriff. Warn King Richard about the danger.”

“Ha!” Guy thundered. “King Richard will execute me!”

“I don’t think so. _If you help the king defeat Vaisey and the Black Knights, he may pardon you_.”

Her boldness was unexpected, and he exploded. “You are instigating me to betray Vaisey! He is the man who helped me survive in Normandy and who returned the lands of my family in my possession!”

For a moment, his words dampened Marian’s ardor, and she lapsed into silence. Then it occurred to her that there was something else that she could use to push Guy to the right path. “And what you will have if King Richard comes back to England and you remain loyal to Vaisey? You will have nothing then: Robin was pardoned, and now Locksley rightfully belongs to him. You will probably be arrested and imprisoned. You may even lose your life: you may be executed for treason, and nobody will speak for you.”

He bit his lips as his temper went from simmering to boiling in a split second. “I cannot lose everything! Not again! I cannot allow Hood, this damned brat, to win! We cannot lose everything!”

“Guy, you should just kill Vaisey–”

“Enough, Marian,” he interrupted her.

“There is one thing you tend to forget: everything is a choice,” Marian stated rhetorically. She had said these words so many times in her life, and now she felt that they were very applicable to their current situation. “Haven’t you ever regretted your choice to ally yourself with Vaisey?”

Guy stepped back from her, and she could see his eyes darken with emotion. “I regret many things I have done in my life, especially leaving Roger de Tosny’s service.”

“Is your decision to accept Vaisey’s offer among your regrets?” Marian regretted her words as soon as they flew out of her mouth. As he had begun to talk to her about his past, she shouldn’t have pressured him, and she shouldn’t have dictated to him what to do in such a harsh and forceful manner.

“I do regret serving Vaisey and carrying out many of his commands, but I am loyal to him,” he said in a low voice that was surprisingly shaky. “But I must be at the sheriff’s side to retake everything back for the second time because one of the men who destroyed my life many years ago is still alive.”

There was a glint of irritation in her eyes. “You again mean Robin Hood?”

“Yes.” Guy’s voice was as chilly as a winter wind. “Hood’s existence reminds me of the tragic things that happened to my parents and me. I cannot be happy until he completely redeems the debt he has to me.”

Robin and Guy’s conflict was like the eternal battle of light and darkness. Unfortunately, they had no idea that they were unfortunate victims of a cruel fate, while the real culprit of their misery was the man who had long been cold in his grave – King Henry II of England. Robin and Guy could admit a thought that the old king’s decisions had doomed their lives to be turned into cinders and dust.

She shook her head in disappointment. “Your words don’t make sense to me, Guy. You don’t believe that you do really think that revenge will make you happy.”

Guy fought back the impulse to shake her until thoughts and memories about Robin Hood evaporated from her head. “I know what I am talking about.”

“Guy, may I ask you a delicate question?”

“Go on.” He sighed, hoping that she would not speak about Robin.

“You once told me that your mother had an affair with King Henry,” she began cautiously.

He arched a brow. “And?”

“Your mother married Sir Roger, and it was Queen Eleanor’s initiative. Is there any chance that this hasty marriage was arranged to hide… something?”

His eyes had narrowed, and his lips compressed. His mind was racing with the implications of Marian’s words. He could see where she was going, but it was an absurd thought! “No, there was nothing to conceal, and I order you to never think about such things again. My mother married my father in about six months after the old king had set her aside. She spent several months in her family’s castle. All of her former suitors were no longer willing to marry her just because she was a former royal mistress, while her parents berated her for her carnal lusts, impelling her to enter a convent and pledge her life to the Lord.”

It was what Ghislaine of Gisborne had told Guy, although it wasn’t the truth. When young Guy had accidentally overheard one of his parents’ conversations, he had asked his mother about her affair with King Henry. Ghislaine had lied to him: she had said to Guy that six months had passed between the end of her liaison with King Henry and her marriage to Roger of Gisborne. Very few people knew that she had _married Roger in about two months after the king had discarded and humiliated her,_ and many years passed since her departure from Normandy; Guy was unlikely to ever doubt her words.

She felt the heat of a blush spread over her skin. "I beg your pardon for asking this question."

“There is no need to apologize,” he replied evenly. “Try to sleep. We will have to get up early and board the ship to Acre.” Then he turned around and left the room, locking it with the key.

§§§

The journey from Marseilles to Cyprus was troublesome and time-consuming. It took them more than two months to get to Cyprus as they had to spend two weeks on Corsica, waiting for storms to subside; then there was one unfortunate week in Palermo as they waited for the ship they had boarded on Corsica to be repaired. Days dawned clear and bright, offering no relief to the travelers. Everyone was too tired to talk and argue, too irritable to play dice or cards, too exhausted to discuss the regicide attempt, except for an angry Vaisey who fumed during the whole journey, cursing the Holy Land, Robin Hood, and King Richard.

Guy of Gisborne shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand and peered out into the Mediterranean Sea, feeling relieved to finally step on the land of Cyprus. Guy, Vaisey, Archer, and the others disembarked in the harbor of Limassol and, having deposited shackled Marian and Isabella at the inn, headed to a tavern to meet Guy de Lusignan, the King of Cyprus, the spy of the Black Knights.

Vaisey, Guy, and Archer stood outside the small tavern in the harbor. A dim, orange light filtered through the dirty windows. Obviously, there were many low-born people of doubtful reputation and whores seeking for clients inside. There was an assemblage of small shops lined along a narrow pedestrian alley and a bawdy house near the tavern. It was hard to imagine that Guy de Lusignan might be coming to this place.

Guy glanced at the sheriff dubiously. “You are quite sure that we are meeting him here?”

The sheriff cast an angry glance at his henchman. “I know what I am doing. I am certain that he is here.”

“You are not mistaken,” a voice spoke in Norman-French. “I hope I am not late.”

Vaisey, Guy, and Archer turned around and stared at the man who was sauntering towards them. The man wore long, old, dirty boots and was wrapped in a black cloak, his face was hooded.

“Oh, this is alright.” Vaisey laughed. “Let’s go inside.”

Guy pushed the door open, and they entered. They were met by a sickening reek of alcohol, fried fish, and human sweat, as well as by drunken voices and loud, laughter, and the sounds of strange music. Everything was smoke-filled, and the drunken bickering was even louder. Guy spotted several prostitutes, each of them clad in cheap and vulgar gowns: they were roaming from one group of sailors to another in search of clients. Guy gave a grunt, thinking the place seemed terrible even for opportunistic Archer who wrinkled his nose in disgust; Vaisey and de Lusignan only laughed.

“Why are you so astonished?” Guy de Lusignan asked curiously as they seated at the table in the corner. “This is a place of ill-repute, where rogues, pimps, and prostitutes gather every day.”

“Oh? But I have seen worse in Outremer and in the Byzantine Empire,” Archer said steadily.

“Well, it seems that you had to visit such terrible places before,” de Lusignan continued. “I hate this tavern, but I couldn’t meet you in the Castle of Limassol, in the splendor of my small court.”

Vaisey smiled. “Oh, Monsieur, I understand. No worries.”

“I have a lot of news for you; mainly bad news.” De Lusignan slightly raised his hood and gave a long look to his three companions, Prince John’s servants.

“Well, I am very curious,” the sheriff said quietly.

The King of Cyprus let out a muffled laugh. “When Lord Sheridan offered me to side with Prince John, I hesitated because I wasn’t sure that the prince would win the battle for the throne. Now I see that I was right.” He folded his arms over his chest. “You chose a bad time for a regicide attempt.”

The sheriff shook his head in mock dismay. “There is nothing that can stop us now, when we are so close to giving England a new king and a new era - the golden era with King John I of England on the throne.”

Guy and Archer tensed and shared uneasy glances, but then Guy hurriedly glanced away.

Archer leaned back in his seat, sighing deeply. “Prince John feared that Robert de Sablé would fail, and he ordered that we go to Acre sooner than initially planned. He said that we take care of his brother before he signs the peace treaty with Saladin.”

“You are talkative, Archy, very talkative,” Vaisey remarked with a wry grin on his lips.

“Lord Vaisey, you have forgotten that I am Prince John’s man, not your guard whom you can humiliate and mistreat if you are in a foul mood,” Archer fired back, smiling cynically. “Don’t become my enemy.”

Vaisey leaned closer to Archer. “Ah, nice, Archy, very nice! Oh, I like you, my sweet Archy. You are so confident and so arrogant. But I have known prouder men who broke and learned obedience.”

Archer measured him with a cold glare. “I warned you, Lord Vaisey. You are better to be my friend.”

Guy was suppressing a wide grin. He enjoyed that Archer taunted Vaisey; he also envied him that he was free and didn’t need to tolerate Vaisey’s insults. But they had come there to talk about the deal.

Guy veered his gaze to de Lusignan. “What happened? Why this timing is not suitable to go to Acre?”

“I will wager that you won’t be happy to learn that King Richard is expecting to sign the peace treaty with Saladin within one week,” de Lusignan informed. “It may be done by now.”

Everyone stared at Lusignan in shock. The only sounds were the laughter of the drunken people and the heavy breathing of the conspirators. Little by little, the silence between them became oppressive.

“Well, the news is disconcerting. How did the king manage to do it so quickly?” Vaisey asked.

“The Earl of Huntingdon, thwarted the last regicide attempt,” de Lusignan reported. “Robin of Locksley and Henry de Champagne allied King Richard with the Hashashin, and Saladin supported this alliance. Locksley unmasked Robert de Sablé’s plot and retrieved the Pact of Caen.”

“Damn Hood,” Vaisey cursed.

De Lusignan nodded. “King Richard has the Pact of Nottingham and the Pact of Caen in his possession. He has everything against the Black Knights and knows the names of all the traitors.”

“What happened to Robert de Sablé?” A smile disappeared from Vaisey’s face.

Guy de Lusignan informed them, “The Earl of Huntingdon killed Grand Master de Sablé in Masyaf after a long, bloody fight. Robert de Sablé was an excellent swordsman, but Huntingdon proved to be a better one. According to rumors, Locksley wounded Grand Master and forced him to his knees; then he spoke an accusatory and passionate speech and beheaded de Sablé as a traitor.”

Guy laughed quietly. “Well, I expected that that regicide attempt would be thwarted.”

Vaisey smiled knowingly. “It was easy to predict that Robin Hood would kill Robert de Sablé. Hood again showed how crafty his pretty little head is and how resourceful he is!” With a look of incredibility, he snickered. “However, I didn’t expect that our dear outlaw friend might be so utterly seized by anger and bloodlust that he can force a defeated man to kneel and then to kill him. It is so unexpected, but so delicious and theatrical!” He croaked with laughter. “Hood’s bloodthirstiness proves how dangerous he is. There is more in him than I thought. I would have given a lot to watch de Sablé’s beheading.”

“He has always been a bloody-minded hypocrite. He is a murderer and a thief,” Guy spat.

Vaisey rubbed his cheek. “Our Hooddie is dangerous.”

De Lusignan smiled. “Locksley hates all traitors. I don’t like him even a bit: he is arrogant, conceited, and righteous, a pampered king’s favorite. Yet, I cannot deny that Robin is noble through and through.”

“You admire him?” Archer asked with interest.

“Everyone admires the brave Earl of Huntingdon, Hero of Acre and Robin Hood. You can envy him and dislike him, but you cannot be indifferent to him. I have never liked him, but I cannot deny that he is a unique man who makes a difference and who does incredible things,” de Lusignan explained, a lazy smile hovering over his lips. “He is utterly loyal to the king; he will never betray him.”

“But Hood is a pain in derrière,” the sheriff opined. “Ah! Well, it looks like we will have to kill our little Robin Red Breast in the Holy Land. He will die together with his beloved Richard.” He smacked his lips. “They will be our chickens, and we will be hunters. We will capture and kill them.”

Guy de Lusignan gave Vaisey a skeptical look. “Are you sure that you want to attempt regicide when the Crusade is almost over? It is unlikely that you will be able to cast the blame for the king’s death on the Saracens. Robin of Locksley and Robert de Beaumont won’t allow you to come close to the king.”

The sheriff laughed, his spirits improving. “This time we will kill King Richard. Robert de Sablé’s death is a good thing! I never mind someone dead! Hood gave us a great chance to kill the king and his friends.”

“It won’t be easy,” de Lusignan noted.

A taciturn Archer watched the King of Cyprus, Vaisey, and Guy. He despised the sheriff with all his heart, and he was stunned that Guy willingly endured the awful humiliation from Vaisey. He also thought of his long-lost family – of his natural father, Malcolm of Locksley who had found him in Constantinople, and of his far-famed half-brother, Robin of Locksley. Isabella also was on his mind: he was sympathetic to her because of her sufferings. He loathed Robin and was full of venomous jealousy: he envied Robin Hood because his half-brother was adored and admired by the world, was in the king’s highest favor, and had what he, Archer, had never had in addition to having been abandoned by their father.

Guy’s eyes darted between the sheriff’s smug face and de Lusignan’s calm face. Like de Lusignan, he doubted that it would be easy to assassinate the king. The latest news that Robin had killed de Sablé didn’t make him enthusiastic about killing Richard in Acre when Hood was always near the king and headed the private guard. Guy had once failed in Acre, and it was likely that they would not succeed this time.

“Do you have a plan, my lord? If Hood is so bloodthirsty and is always with the king, we may have a serious trouble,” Guy said neutrally.

“I always have a plan! Always!” Vaisey cried out.

“If you think that everything is so easy, then you are mistaken.” Guy de Lusignan stretched his legs forward. “And I don’t recommend that you kill Robin of Locksley, even if you try to kill King Richard.”

The sheriff turned to de Lusignan, and his wry smile instantly transformed into a glare. “Prince John craves to see Hood dead. Hood has become too annoying. His death is necessary.”

“My lord, I support you.” Guy gave a nod to the sheriff.

De Lusignan chuckled. “Prince John won’t praise you if you kill the Earl of Huntingdon.”

Vaisey waved his hand, a gesture of irritable dismissal. “Nonsense. He will be pleased.”

“Let him speak,” Archer insisted, staring at de Lusignan. “Why should Robin of Locksley live?”

Guy de Lusignan was pleased that he would bring the troubling news to the sheriff whom he loathed, although it was their first meeting. “King Richard arranged a political marriage for Robin of Locksley.”

Guy gripped the edge of the table tightly, his knuckles turning white. “Hood is going to marry?”

“Robin of Locksley is a married man,” de Lusignan informed. “He wedded the king’s first cousin, Lady Melisende Plantagenet, and became Count de Bordeaux by his marriage. The grand wedding took place in Acre over two months ago. It was a political marriage.”

“Political marriage?” Guy’s mood improved at the revelation that Robin was no longer a free man. He remembered the rumors he had heard at royal court in London from William Marshal, the Earl of Pembroke, and his wife, Isabel de Clare; he was again impressed with Marshal’s shrewdness as the man had guessed correctly that Lady Melisende would be married off to Robin of Locksley.

De Lusignan elaborated, “It was necessary for King Richard to ensure the loyalty of those lords from Aquitaine and Normandy who betrayed him and pledged fealty to Prince John. Richard needed this marriage to prevent the potential unrest among his nobles; so he married his favorite off to his cousin.”

“I see,” Guy said, recovering from the initial shock.

Archer narrowed his eyes. “And Locksley agreed?”

“Locksley will do everything for the king,” de Lusignan supplied. “Many of those lords also were unhappy to be vassals to Lady Melisende; they said that she is just a young woman, and there was another doubtful matter with the inheritance of County de Bordeaux there, but I don’t know it in details.”

“The political impact of this union is huge,” the sheriff surmised.

“Yes,” de Lusignan agreed.  “Now the king’s vassals from Aquitaine, especially from Bordeaux and nearby lands, are eagerly swearing their fealty to Robin of Locksley. This marriage pleased many nobles, who were discontent with the long absence of King Richard. As you understand, most of the Black Knights from Aquitaine and Normandy switched sides, and now they again support Richard.”

An amazed Vaisey gave a little smile. “Blah-di-blah-di-blah! This is a good strategic political move to ensure the loyalty of those lords by arranging a marriage of his most trusted servant to his blood cousin.”

Guy remarked, “I have never thought that the Lionheart is so politically astute.”

De Lusignan speculated, “I suspect that it is not King Richard’s idea. It is Eleanor of Aquitaine’s political move to prevent the unrest in the Angevin Empire and give her precious Richard a great advantage over John. I heard that the Queen Mother also arranged beneficial political marriages for Robert de Beaumont and Andre de Chauvigny, the king’s most beloved and trusted supporters; these unions will be like Locksley’s marriage: they will ensure loyalty of many lords to the king and stability in the Angevin Empire; they will marry after their return from Acre.”

Archer rolled his eyes in exacerbation. “The king’s cousin? Locksley is a lucky man.”

“The arrogant brat is too full of himself,” the King of Cyprus continued. “I am sure Locksley is now even prouder and more arrogant. After all, King Richard elevated him higher than many other nobles, even the Earl of Leicester.” He chuckled. “Locksley is holding the Earldom of Huntingdon and County of Bordeaux through his marriage; he also received many estates in Aquitaine, Normandy, and Anjou.”

Guy mocked, “Robin Hood is the hero of the downtrodden, but he is so rich and has such lofty titles.”

Archer’s eyebrow flicked upward in cynical mocking. “Oh, I wouldn’t care about a woman’s titles and estates if she were ugly and unattractive.”

De Lusignan laughed. “Lady Melisende is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.”

“Then Locksley is a too lucky man,” Archer growled through clenched teeth. “These royal favorites are extremely lucky men… so many castles and titles, while others have nothing!”

“Archy, you are envious? Don’t be a bad boy!” Vaisey teased.

“It is not your deal, Lord Vaisey,” Archer flung back.

De Lusignan shrugged. “Well, the Earl of Huntingdon and the Earl of Leicester have always been in King Richard’s highest favor. I am not astounded that good marriages were arranged for them.”

Sheriff Vaisey called a passing servant girl and gave her a coin. She smiled and in a few moments brought four cups of ale for the four men who were waiting in silence.

“Prince John is not pleased with Hood’s marriage, I guess.” Guy took a cup of ale and made a small sip.

“Well, Prince John didn’t know the news about the marriage in Acre when he dispatched you on this mission, but many things have changed. The prince will get the news about Huntingdon’s marriage soon, I suppose,” de Lusignan said confidently. “Now you understand why Prince John won’t thank you for killing Robin of Locksley. Huntingdon is married to the cousin of both Richard and John.”

The sheriff looked troubled, but then he masked his anxiety with a wry smile.

“And what?” Archer didn’t drink his ale, for he simply had never liked it.

Guy de Lusignan broke into a loud laugh. “And you don’t understand, do you?” He emptied his cup of ale and slammed it on the table. “It is very simple! If Huntingdon dies, particularly if he heroically sacrifices himself for the king, it may lead to political unrest in Aquitaine. Queen Eleanor’s vassals will accuse Prince John of his death, and the prince doesn’t need that.”

The sheriff gave a cocksure smile. “Of course, it won’t make Prince John more popular.”

“Prince John loves Lady Melisende, and he won’t want to hurt her,” de Lusignan mentioned. “I believe that Richard arranged this marriage for Locksley to make his standing more secure.”

Vaisey grinned. “La di da di da! I don’t care about the heart of a poor heartbroken widow. Hood’s royal leper wife will survive if our dear outlaw dies at my hand.” He laughed again. “Find me a woman who wants to be married to a dead hero – you will fail. Dead men provide no comfort or love to lepers.”

“The timing for the regicide attempt is not very good,” de Lusignan reiterated.

“This time is excellent,” Vaisey countered. He turned to Guy then. “This is your fault, Gisborne. You are an incompetent idiot. You and your boy, who ran away in Nottingham, are at fault! You failed Prince John and me. You know what I mean Gisborne! Queen Eleanor must have been dealt with a long time ago.” He meant that they had failed to find the Queen Mother’s golden boy.

Guy cringed. “My lord, this is not my fault… We were looking for a needle in the heap of hay. We–”

“Shut up, Gisborne! I don’t need your justifications! I need the result!” Vaisey screamed. “You don’t have to think – you must only carry out my commands; nothing more. You failed me again.”

“My lord, I…” Guy didn’t know what to say.

“Be careful, Gisborne.” The sheriff leaned towards Guy and hugged him; it was a fake gesture of friendly affection. He murmured into his henchman’s ear, “You know what will happen if you don’t kill the king.” He lowered his voice to a hissing sound of a serpent. “I will kill your lepers, making them to whimper in pain.” He drew back and waggled his finger at Guy as if his henchman were a disobedient child. “Gizzy, don’t fail me in Acre. Don’t make me teach you a hard lesson.”

The sheriff and Guy looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Vaisey smirked, his expression showing his superiority. Guy was serious, his jaw clenched, his teeth gritted. Guy craved to take revenge on Vaisey, but he had to keep silent in order to avoid negative consequences for Marian in the first place.

“I understand,” Guy supplied.

“Good, my boy,” the sheriff nearly sang, turning to de Lusignan. “So you, Monsieur, still don’t recommend that we go to Acre and make Richard Plantagenet roar in pain like a wild lion?”

“No, I don’t,” de Lusignan responded. “The king has almost made peace with Saladin. You are highly likely to fail.” He smirked darkly. “And if you fail, King Richard will roar like a lion but in rage. Then he will show you how pitiless the heart of a lion can be to his foes.”

The sheriff sniggered. “The king will never win. I want to see the heart of King Richard – I want to know whether the king indeed has the heart of a lion.” He chuckled. “You, Monsieur, are a traitor to Prince John.”

“Oh,” de Lusignan breathed, smirking. “I just told you the truth.”

The sheriff stood up and strode towards the chair where de Lusignan sat; he stopped and dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword. “What do you think I should do with traitors to Prince John if they don’t agree with me? I am so close to having England!” He smiled fiendishly. “You can guess what I am going to do.”

Guy de Lusignan jumped to his feet. “You want me dead!”

The sheriff nodded vigorously.  “Of course!”

Vaisey ripped his sword from the scabbard and attacked. Guy de Lusignan had no time to draw his weapon. The sheriff plunged the blade into the chest of the King of Cyprus who screamed in horror and staggered backwards. De Lusignan began to choke on his own blood, struggling for breath; in the next moment, he dropped to his knees and then fell on his back, his eyes shut; he was dead.

Sheathing his sword with a vicious thrust, the sheriff turned away with a curse that could cause a sailor to cringe. Shocked Guy and Archer approached the sheriff and the corpse, their faces white in horror.

“Why did you do that, Lord Vaisey?” Archer demanded, his voice shaking.

“My lord…” Guy looked at the sheriff in amazement.

Vaisey smiled with a triumphal smile. “Look, boys, how kings die! Look and learn.” He laughed. The king is dead! Long live the king!”

“He was working for the Black Knights,” Guy muttered, looking at the pool of blood on the floor.

“He outlived his usefulness,” the sheriff barked. “We must go.”

Absolute hush reigned in the tavern as the visitors looked at the three men standing near the corpse, and then frightened voices spoke in hushed tones. A shocked servant dropped a tray on the floor. The music stopped, and every pair of eyes was glued to Vaisey and his companions. Then someone screamed something about the murder, and prostitutes broke into tears and entreaties. Some people began to walk towards them.

His eyes gleaming like those of a beast, Vaisey smiled craftily. He surprised everyone by giving a large purse of golden coins to a few servants. Then the sheriff stormed out and marched to the docks, with Guy and Archer trailing behind him. It was already dark by this time, and only torches on the buildings here and there illuminated the harbor. They didn’t talk and only followed Vaisey, everyone lost in thoughts. They stopped only near the inn where Marian and Isabella were guarded by the sheriff’s mercenaries.

“We are sailing to Acre right now,” Vaisey declared in an imperative voice.

Archer looked at the sky; then he swung his gaze to Vaisey. “We will sail into the storm then.”

“Are you afraid of storms?” The sheriff laughed. “I don’t care about this damned storm. We must be in Acre as soon as possible. We must try to kill the king before he signs the peace treaty with Saladin.” His face turned serious. “We have to kill the lion before he leaves the Holy Land.”

“What about Guy de Lusignan?” Guy’s voice sounded almost numb from shock.

“Gisborne, don’t worry about trifles, my dear boy,” the sheriff responded with a sour smile. “De Lusignan was disguised. Nobody will recognize him as the King of Cyprus before his cloak is removed. I bought the silence of several witnesses. When they recognize who he is, commotion will escalate, but we will be already very far from Cyprus. His death was so romantic: _a secret murder in the darkness_.”

Bewilderment leaped alive in Guy’s eyes. “My lord, he was on our side.”

A snarling Vaisey grabbed Guy’s shoulders. “We have to leave, Gisborne! Right now! We are very close to power, and we will get it. Get a hold of your emotions. I need you, my boy.”

“My lord, I am…” Guy stammered; bewilderment was now replaced by sheer shock.

Vaisey warned, “Don’t provoke me, Gisborne.”

Guy lowered his head. “I am sorry, my lord.”

“I want to experience the marvelous delight of killing the king! King Richard the Lionheart has been sentenced to death!” Vaisey intoned, as if he were a judge handing down a verdict.

“It is so gallant of you, Lord Vaisey, to sentence to death the rightful King of England and anyone else when you have no power to do it,” Archer snarled.

The sheriff’s eyebrows rose. “Your surprise me, Archy. What is going on in your little empty head? Prince John hired you to kill King Richard because Lord Sheridan and the prince himself were impressed with your fighting skills. I also know that you had been interested in the contract on capturing and killing Robin Hood in England before we learned about Hood’s departure to Acre. Now you can kill the king and Hood.”

“I am not repudiating the contract,” Archer assured him.

Guy regarded Archer with interest. “But the circumstances have changed.”

“Maybe,” Archer agreed, hesitating for the first time since he had learned the truth of his birth.

“Shut up, you idiots!” Vaisey bellowed. “We are sailing in an hour! Bring Gisborne’s lepers on the ship.”

They sailed from Limassol to the open sea, into the darkness and soaking in the heavy rain. Just as the wind snapped the sails into service, the little vessel slipped slowly from the harbor, passing by two approaching ships that hurried to cast anchor in Limassol in order to wait for the storm to abate. The strength of the storm was building, but the sheriff persisted that they had to increase the speed, and so they kept going forward. The shores of the Holy Land lay somewhere ahead, shrouded in a fatal fog of death and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you truly enjoyed this chapter and the plot.
> 
> In this chapter, there is a small love triangle that includes Robin, Melisende, and Robin’s close friend Robert de Beaumont. It is not a triangle because Melisende and Robert are only friends and their relationship is over, but they still are very close and had deep affection for each other.
> 
> Melisende Plantagenet is not an ideal woman as she may seem at first glance; she has some secrets about her life, although she makes a confession to Robin on the wedding night. Why do I need it? Melisende was born in Poitou and grew up at royal court in Poitiers, and she is a character who is similar to Eleanor of Aquitaine. Ladies from Aquitaine were influenced by the art of troubadours and by the highly cultured and also relaxed environment, so it is highly likely that Melisende could take lovers. And, truth be told, I am not particularly fond of pure and dull maidens because they seem to lack some conflict of personality while I like bring sensitive drama into the plotline.
> 
> Vaisey, Guy, and the others continue their journey to Acre. As you see, more people will participate in the regicide attempt on King Richard’s life than in the show. The framework is different, but there will be some spoilers from the end of season 2 when the sheriff attempts regicide.
> 
> Finally, I brought Archer into the story, which I had promised to do a long time ago. Archer is has something in common with both Robin and Guy: he is not as honorable, high-minded, and altruistic as Robin; but he is not as practical, cruel, full of conflict, and dark as Guy; he is the amalgamation of Guy and Robin. So far, Archer hates Robin and wants to take his revenge on his older half-brother for having everything while he had nothing and grew up in poverty. Yet, he is hesitating and he despises Vaisey.
> 
> Marian makes another attempt to persuade Guy not to kill the king, but she fails. At least now Marian understands that Guy doesn’t want to kill the king, but he feels that he is trapped: he is trapped by Vaisey who pressures him to kill Richard and he is trapped by his own past transgressions because he is already a traitor to King Richard. And Guy certainly has nothing to thank King Henry for because the old King once seduced his mother and because Roger of Gisborne’s loyalty to the king didn’t help him and Guy was dispossessed. Of course, Guy doesn’t know the truth yet about his true relationship with the king and he still hates Robin, blaming him for all his misery.
> 
> The sheriff, Guy, and Archer meet Guy de Lusignan, who was the King of Jerusalem from 1186 to 1192 by right of marriage to Sibylla of Jerusalem, and of Cyprus from 1192 to 1194. In chapter 9 in the first part of Quintessence, Lord Walter Sheridan announced on the assembly of the Black Knights that he had managed to bring Guy de Lusignan on their side and make them their spy. I needed Vaisey to meet de Lusignan because the sheriff must know that the king has almost achieved peace in the Holy Land; it changes something in Vaisey’s plans and he becomes more desperate.
> 
> Moreover, I also planned to have Guy de Lusignan killed by Vaisey because it is the king’s murder and in some way it tests Archer and Guy, who are shocked with the sheriff’s actions. In this story/novel, the time of Guy de Lusignan’s death almost coincides with the date of his death in real history: Guy de Lusignan died on 18 July 1194, while in this story Vaisey kills him in end of July 1194; the regicide attempt in Acre will take place at the beginning of August 1194.
> 
> This chapter is the last “quiet” chapter before the drama in Acre begins. Chapters 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9 are very dramatic and full of emotions, angst, and mental anguish because the events in the Holy Land are shocking and tragic. Chapters 4, 7, 8, and 9 are the most turbulent and dramatic chapters. I warned you that I cannot guarantee that everyone will survive in the Holy Land.
> 
> The next chapter is overemotional and highly important for Robin of Locksley and King Richard.


	4. The Bitter Truth

**Chapter 4**

**The Bitter Truth**

More than two months passed since the wedding of Robin and Melisende. Many things changed since then. The Crusaders continued working hard and relentlessly for peace, and King Richard was happy that Sultan Saladin graciously accepted the offer to begin peace negotiations in several weeks. Everyone was so tired of endless bloody holy wars that they felt as though their lives had depended on making peace with Saladin, which would transform the dark times to blinding white.

Saladin sent to Acre as his representatives two men – Prince Al-Afdal, his eldest surviving son and heir, and Prince Malik, Saladin’s nephew. King Richard was represented by Sir Robin Fitzooth of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon; Sir Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester; Monsieur Henry de Champagne, Count de Champagne and King of Jerusalem; and Sir Carter Leighton of Stretton, Baron Clifton.

Two rows of Saladin's security guards stood outside the tent occupied by Prince Malik and Prince Al-Afdal, forming a path with swords and lances to the opening of the tent.

Robin and his friends dismounted, and the Saracen guards hustled to take their horses and lead them away. They unbuckled their swords as custom dictated, then handed them over to Saladin’s guards. Surprisingly, they were told that they could keep their weapons, which probably was a sign of trust between the king’s men and the two princes.

King Richard’s representatives entered the tent, roaming their eyes over the luxurious Arabic splendor. In the dim light, they saw two young Saracen men – Prince Malik and Prince Al-Afdal, who stood in the middle of the tent, welcoming their Christian guests with warm smiles.

The Saracen royals were clothed in rich Arabic robes, which were made out of deep ruby silk and were elaborately embroidered with gems and jewelry stones; white turbans adorned their heads, and Saracen curved swords hung at their sides. Everything about the two princes marked them as lords or princes: their proud bearing and posture, their extraordinary mannerism, the rich clothes they wore, and their handsome and strong features showing regal authority.

“Praise be to Allah, the lord of the universe,” Prince Al-Afdal began in a majestic voice. “In the name of Allah, the lord and giver of mercy, and Mohammed his prophet, peace be upon him, we welcome the representatives of King Richard the Lionheart here.”

The king’s men bowed deeply to the Saracens.

Prince Malik hurried to meet the Crusaders and approached Robin at first, taking both his hands as if they were old friends, not enemies, meeting after a long separation. “Robin of Locksley, I am glad that we have another chance to meet each other,” he said in English, his Arabic accent very distinguishable.

Robin of Locksley bowed to the prince, smiling brightly. “Malik Yūsuf ibn Ayyūb, I am happy to meet you here.” He genuinely liked the prince since their first meeting in Nottingham.

Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester, bowed to the princes. “Malik Yūsuf ibn Ayyūb, I am more than happy to meet you.” His eyes flew to Al-Afdal. “Al-Afdal ibn Salah ad-Din, I have to say that our meeting is a pleasant surprise. We are happy that you returned home, to your esteemed father, alive.” He grinned. “It is good that our second meeting is happening in a better environment.”

Prince Al-Afdal laughed. “Certainly, it is much better to negotiate the terms of the treaty than to die in the desert.”

The Crusaders looked at Robert with silent question. Only Robin smiled knowingly.

Robert smiled smugly. “Well, I once saved Prince Al-Afdal’s life. Like Robin, I am the savior of the Saracen prince,” he informed proudly. “It happened when Robin was in England.”

Robin grinned sheepishly. “Robert, it means that we are the two saviors of the princes.”

Prince Malik smiled back. “Indeed.”

“Undoubtedly, they are our two saviors.” Prince Al-Afdal let out a brief laugh. “Lord Leicester saved my life in the open desert when Robert de Sablé’s treacherous men tried to kill me and my guards,” he explained. “I don’t want to remember that, which is why you don’t know about it.”

Prince Al-Afdal and Prince Malik greeted the King of England’s party with a greater heartiness than any of them could have expected. The Saracen princes only smiled at the astonished faces of their Christian guests. Prince Malik pointed his finger at the massive of multicolored pillows scattered across the floor behind a low wide table. They settled comfortably there, reclining comfortably among soft cushions.

“Do you want to hear our terms?” Prince Al-Afdal questioned.

“Yes, we do,” Robin confirmed, a smile hovering over his lips. “We have come here in the name of King Richard the Lionheart and with a heartfelt desire to end this war that has continued for so many years. We will listen to your terms of peace, and we will respect and consider your demands.”

Stretching his long legs on the floor, the Earl of Leicester stared at the prince. “Our king hopes that our negotiations will be brief as we seem to understand each other’s needs and demands very well. Anyway, please tell us everything, without evasion, for nobody needs this war to continue any longer.”

“This war must end,” Prince Malik agreed. “That’s why we have gathered here today.”

“King Richard wants peace, and so does Saladin. We all want peace in the Holy Land. From our side, we are interested in the most urgent resolution of the matter," Henry de Champagne said flatly, his face straight and serious. "We don’t wish to exchange empty promises and discuss impossible terms.”

“Quickly and effectively,” Carter of Leighton summarized their objectives.

“Let it be so then,” Al-Afdal replied, smiling at them.

“Allah wills it,” Malik said with a smile.

“Then we shall begin,” de Champagne said.

Prince Malik looked at Robin and smiled with genuine warmth at him. “Before we start, I want to pass to all of you Saladin’s warmest regards and best wishes to the brave and glorious King Richard.” He paused, his eyes darting between Robert and Robin. “My uncle Saladin also asked me to pass to the Earl of Huntingdon and the Earl of Leicester his warmest regards and thanks for saving my life in Nottingham and saving Al-Afdal’s life in the desert.”

Prince Al-Afdal smiled. “My father said that he admires and loves Sir Robin and Sir Robert even though he saw you both only in a distance on the battlefield.”

Looking ever so much like a mischievous cherub, Robin smiled at the two princes. “You ’don't have to thank us. Please pass to Saladin our best regards and warm greetings from our king.”

“We will,” Al-Afdal agreed, imps of mischief lighting his hazel eyes. “Now I believe we should begin.”

Robin nodded. “All cities can be conquered, and Jerusalem is not exclusion, but not all cities can be held as easily as they can be taken,” he said in a steady voice. “Therefore, we don’t plan to conquer the holy city, and we do request only safe and free passage for Christians there.”

The negotiations went smoothly. There were no heated discussions of the peace treaty, for both sides knew what they wanted. As the evening closed silently around Acre and deepening darkness brought fresh cooling sea breeze that came to blow away all frustrations of the day, the truce for three years. If the Prince of Antioch and the Count of Tripoli desired, they could have also been included in the treaty.

In accordance with the peace treaty, the Crusaders kept all the lands along the coast from Tyre to Jaffa. It was agreed that Christians could have a free passage through the land of Palestine and to Jerusalem. However, only pilgrims having King Richard’s banner could have been granted a safe passage to the holy city; the French Crusaders were not given an opportunity to visit Jerusalem. The Third Crusade was over, and pilgrims could start making visits to the holy city and its shrines. The kingdom of Jerusalem was finally re-established officially.

Although Robin, Robert, Henry, and Carter implored the King of England not to make any restrictions for the French, Richard rejected all their rational arguments and pleas. The Lionheart was infuriated and felt betrayed by Philippe’s treacherous actions: the King of France was attacking Richard’s lands in Normandy, and it was rumored that the man had allied himself with Prince John to murder King Richard and then divide the lands of the Angevin Empire between each other.

The Crusade had begun on a bright note for King Richard and King Philippe, who had been allies and had organized their own expedition in the Holy Land to liberate Jerusalem. Without the aid of the English and French Crusaders, who had arrived in the autumn of 1189, Guy de Lusignan's attack on Acre would have been a futile gesture, and it had probably been the coming of King Richard and his great generals – Walter Sheridan, Robin of Locksley, Robert de Beaumont, Andre de Chauvigny, Roger de Lacy, and several other capable men, as well as Henry de Champagne and Hugh de Burgundy from the French side – which made the eventual capture of the city certain. Nevertheless, at present the initial role of the French soldiers in the Crusade didn’t matter, for the relations between Richard and Philippe were damaged forever, and the lion wasn’t going to make concession and gifts to the French.

“Melek-Ric has many great servants,” Prince Al-Afdal proclaimed as he signed the treaty and stamped it with Saladin’s personal seal. Then he ran his eyes over the Crusaders. “Robin of Locksley, Robert of Leicester, Henry de Champagne, Carter of Stretton, you all are heroes of your countries and the most loyal subjects of your king. I am delighted to meet you today.”

Prince Malik glanced over the representatives of King Richard. “All of you worked for peace tirelessly and devotedly. You all contributed a great deal to the achievement of peace in the Holy Land. May Allah and your God bless you for bringing peace into these lands!” 

“I feel the same way,” the Earl of Leicester admitted.

“Although I am not entirely satisfied with the results of these negotiations, I am glad that the Crusade is over,” Henry de Champagne said sadly.

Robin looked sadly at de Champagne. “I am sorry to disappoint you so much, Henry, but I want you to believe me that I did everything I could. I talked to the king and begged him to change his opinion and decision, but he didn’t want to make any concessions to King Philippe’s men and vassals. ”

At Robin’s sad expression, Henry smiled cheerfully, an impish twinkle in his eyes. “It is not your fault or anybody’s fault. King Richard, my Uncle, is not easily swayed from his course. He is a great leader, but he doesn’t change his direction if he has already set something in his head.”

Robin smiled gratefully at de Champagne. “Thank you for understanding, Henry.”

“Oh, our king is very stubborn,” Leicester admitted jovially.

“This meeting was both pleasant and productive,” Carter said.

"I am happy that we have made peace, but I am deeply sad that we have to part our ways now, with all of you." Al-Afdal’s expression was sorrowful. “May you go with peace.”

“God save you on your way to your home,” Prince Malik said sincerely.

The king’s men also bowed to the prince in silence since there was nothing more to say; then they turned around and left the tent. Robin also bowed and wanted to leave, but he felt a hand gripping his forearm; Prince Malik asked him to stay for a while. At the same time, the Earl of Leicester was engaged in a lively conversation with Prince Al-Afdal.

“If God brought us together at a different moment, then you and I would have much to discuss, Robin of Locksley," Prince Malik said, smiling brightly at Robin.

Robin smiled back. "Yes, but we don’t have time now, for we are leaving Acre in several days. So I am afraid that our conversation will be a brief one.”

“Unfortunately, Al-Afdal and I have to depart back to Damask and then to Jerusalem, to my uncle Saladin,” Prince Malik pointed out. “You of all people should know how Saladin and his emirs value time, and I cannot allow myself to stay in Acre even for several days to spend them with one of the most extraordinary man I have ever met.”

Robin nodded. “You are exaggerating, Malik.”

“No, I am not, Robin,” Malik objected, sending Robin a smiling look. “If you didn’t save me from the Sheriff of Nottingham, I am not sure that I would be here now. And my high opinion of you requires me to personally thank you for saving me and helping me in England.”

Robin didn’t reply for some time, his hand clasping his own wrist; then he spoke, his tone low. "Every time I save people’s lives I feel that I am doing the right thing. I can't explain that any better than that. Perhaps God is guiding my action. Perhaps I feel that I cannot let innocents die.”

"There is something great in you, Crusader,” Malik began, slowly and contemplatively. “You did so many great things for your king. And I know that you did many amazing things for your people in England. You saved your king’s life so many times. You saved my life. You saved very many lives. I believe you are a God’s warrior.” His eyes flew to Leicester. “Your beloved friend, Lord Leicester, is also a God’s warrior. He also saved many lives, including Al-Afdal’s life.”

Robin felt a feeling of guilt nesting in his stomach. He again chose the King of England over the people and abandoned the people of Nottingham to fulfill his sacred mission – to save the king from the Black Knights and Prince John. A feeling of guilt plagued him since he had departed from Nottingham to Portsmouth and had sailed to Acre. His only consolation was that he had been officially pardoned and that his noble status had been reinstated; he was sure that his friend Roger de Lacy was effectively administering his lands well and was taking care of his people.

More than seven years ago, Robin had deserted his people because he had dreamed of conquering the Holy Land for Christians; but later he had realized that the Holy Land belonged to everyone – to the Christians, Jews, and Saracens. Now he left his people out of loyalty to the king again, but not for glory and because of his dreams to liberate Jerusalem from the heathens. And yet, Robin still had to sacrifice his people’s interests for the king’s sake; he was guilty, and he knew that. Robin wondered whether there was any possibility to find the balance between serving the king and serving the people, but he had no answer to that question. The achievement of such a golden balance seemed to be founded upon ideals and dreams; he had too many dreams in his life, which were destined to remain only dreams.

Robin squeezed Malik’s hands. “You exaggerate; but I value your high opinion of me.”

“I am rational and fair, Robin of Locksley. It is not so hard to figure out what you have done for England and for Melek-Ric, and how many people were saved by you,” Malik replied in admiration.

“I am glad that you are alive and in good health.” Robin smiled, almost modestly to his own surprise; he was proud that he had saved Saladin’s nephew. “Now I bid you farewell, Malik. I leave you in God’s grace and peace,” he added, bowing deeply and respectfully.

§§§

The great banquet was arranged in the Citadel of Acre to celebrate the achievement of peace in the Holy Land. King Richard, the Crusaders, and many churchmen sat at the high table, enjoying a feast of beef stew, marrow tarts, and stuffed capon and listening to loud cheers of the Crusaders.

Melisende smiled at Robin with a slow, enchanting smile, and he smiled back at her, a smile of such warmth, of such tenderness, that her heart lurched in her breast. She looked at him, her expression slightly astounded, but Robin only laughed, a fierce, exultant joy sweeping through him as he saw in the lovely violet eyes of his young wife the naked hope to be together with him.

Melisende was looking at King Richard who was conversing with Lady Isabella of Jerusalem and Count Henry de Champagne. Suddenly, one of Isabella’s ladies-in-waiting came to them and smiled at her mistress, as well as the King of England. Then Isabella and her lady went away, leaving the king with de Champagne in a lively discussion, no doubt, about the signed peace treaty with Saladin.

Melisende took a goblet of wine and made a small sip. “Women like Richard.”

Robin sipped wine, grinning sheepishly. “King Richard is a very handsome man.” He placed a goblet on the table. “I would say that our king is even more charismatic and imposing than simply handsome.” He eyed the king dressed in a royal purple brocade doublet and flat pants of the matching color, its wristbands and collar trimmed with diamonds and rubies. “It is inevitable that ladies like him.”

She tugged at the sleeve of Robin’s doublet. “Robin, I want to ask you something.”

He turned his gaze at his wife. “Ask whatever you want.”

“I love Richard very much, and I have always been very close to him. As you know, I grew up at his court in Poitiers when Aunt Eleanor was imprisoned,” she began in a quiet voice as she didn’t wish to be overheard. “I know everything about Richard’s love affairs before he left for the Holy Land. He was very discreet, and the courtiers didn’t know the names of his lovers, although there were not many mistresses who were lucky to be invited into his bed.” She coughed nervously.

He eyed her attentively. “Pray continue.”

Melisende leaned her head closer to him. “There are disgusting rumors about Richard. Here, in Acre, I have heard these rumors many times,” she whispered into his ear. “They say that my cousin is indulging himself into… shameful things – sinful affairs – with his soldiers.” She glanced into his eyes. “I know that similar gossip was circulating in Richard’s lands even before the Crusade, but it wasn’t true.” She shifted in her chair uncomfortably. “It is not true, isn’t it? I cannot believe in that.”

Robin looked astonished. “And you believe these rumors, my dear?”

She smiled brightly. “So it is as I thought. Just rumors.”

“Certainly,” he assured her.

“Great.”

He broke into a loud laughter. As his laugh faded away, he murmured into her ear, “You cannot imagine how many times I was accused of indulging myself into a mortal sin of sodomy with our king.”

She giggled. “Well, there are rumors that you and Leicester are honored to share the king’s bed.”

Robin rubbed his cheek. “On the Crusade, there was the infamous Anna Comnenus, a Cypriot princess and a daughter of Isaac Comnenus. She was very young and was held prisoner by King Richard since the conquest of Cyprus. She was a lovely lady, and I guess some would call her beautiful.” He shrugged eloquently. “I don’t know what our king found in her, but the girl enchanted him for a long time. She was with him in his tent many times.” He emptied a goblet of wine. “And you know who his mistress was before our departure to the Holy Land.”

“I know,” Melisende said. “But I believe that no lady will ever have my cousin’s heart. He is betrothed and married to a battle and a war, isn’t he?”

Robin watched the king converse with Henry de Champagne. “I think so.” He sighed heavily. “Our king won’t fall in love again. Not after the death of his beloved years ago; you know whom I mean.”

Melisende sighed grievously. “He told you about the death of his only true love, didn’t he?”

He nodded. “Yes, he did.”

She gave him a weak smile, her thumb stroking his cheek. “Let’s hope that our king will be content with fighting his battles and winning them. Let’s pray that war will not kill Richard any time soon.”

He felt shiver running down his spine. “I even cannot think about his death.”

“And so do I.”

“Maybe Richard may find some consolation in his marriage to Queen Berengaria after our return and their reunion,” Robin assumed, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “It would be not bad at all.”

Melisende shrugged casually. “I believe that Richard will never return to the queen’s bedroom. He lost hope to sire an heir on her, and he doesn’t want to be with her anymore.”

“I know. He told me the same once.”

“Well, it is quite understandable. Berengaria failed to get pregnant with Richard’s child while she was still in the Holy Land.”

“I think you are right. The queen’s bareness is the reason why our liege sent his wife away.”

Melisende smiled at him. “Robin, would you want to have children?”

“I do want children,” he admitted with a sigh; he didn’t think of having children with his new wife after Marian had married Guy, but he found that he strangely didn’t object that. “Yeah, I haven’t thought of that for a long time.”

“Children are always gifts from God.” She tilted her head to once side, grinning at him. She harbored a great joy that he wanted children with her.

“I dare hope that you miss me when I am not with you.” Robin pulled her closer to himself.

Melisende smiled down into at him, her features stunned. “Yes, I missed you, Robin.”

He laughed at her, watching the soft and joyful glow that spread slowly across her face as the meaning and heartfelt tones of his words gradually impinged upon her senses. “Do I dare hope that you won’t object to leave the banquet a little earlier?” he asked carefully, grinning rakishly at her. “Are my very sincere sentiments returned?”

She made a quiet sound, half a laugh, half a sob; then she threw her arms around his neck. “Definitely, yes, Robin.”

Robin rose to his feet and bowed to the king, who winked at him. He kissed his wife’s hand and gave her a heated look. He stood up and went to the exit, where he paused briefly and exchanged greetings and congratulations with those closest to the door, basking in the attention once again in day. At the doorway, he paused and gave Melisende another attentive look, smiling slightly, a mirthful smile that filled her heart with warmth. Then he spun around and went ahead to his destiny, not knowing that in less than an hour his world and old life would lie in tatters.

Robin went outside and descended a staircase, heading to the courtyard. He crossed the courtyard to another tower of the Citadel where the king’s chambers were located and where Melisende was given her lodgings upon her arrival in Acre. He climbed the outer stairs and turned to the corridor, walked through another corridor, and then again ascended a staircase.

For whatever reason, Robin didn’t go directly to the bedchamber he occupied with Melisende. Instead, he made his way to the bedchamber he had always occupied in the Citadel before – when he had stayed within the walls of Acre and hadn’t been married yet. Nostalgia gripped his heart, pushing him to go to that room and have a look on the things which he had brought with him from England. He opened the door and entered the room, sweeping his eyes over the surroundings.

The scent of lemon and beeswax met his nostrils. There was the light from several candles that had been lit by the servants before his arrival. In the flickering light, his gaze fell on the old-fashioned, small steel box resting on a large oak desk in the corner of the chamber; in that box, his father, Malcolm of Locksley, had kept his rings and some of the Huntingdon family’s jewels. Wishing to have something with himself in the Holy Land, Robin had taken the jewelry box with him from Locksley when he had packed his things in Locksley Manor in secret, under Thornton’s watchful gaze.

Smiling to himself, his heartbeat quickening, Robin came to a table and touched the box gingerly. His fingers tingled, and nearly reverently, he took the box in his hands and weighted it. It was heavy, much heavier than it should have been with only several rings and some necklaces which belonged to Robin’s mother and which now he planned to give Melisende soon.

The box clutched tightly in his grasp, Robin sank onto a chair next to a table. Heart pounding harder and harder, arching with pain for the loss of his deceased father, he was staring at the box he held on his lap for a long time without opening it. He had always been excited and scared, eager and simultaneously reluctant to open this seemingly innocent box.

He drew a deep breath and, in one quick motion, opened the box. He found only Malcolm’s jewels and his fingers carefully extracted the large golden ring with the largest emerald he had ever seen, one of the rings his father had loved most of all among his rings, and he remembered it very well. His heart beating faster with excitement, Robin slipped the ring on his finger and smiled, looking at the exquisite piece of art. He chuckled as he didn’t want to wear his father’s large emerald ring which didn’t match the color of his eyes, at the same time perfectly fitting the colors of the Huntingdon family crest.

He made an awkward movement, and the box fell from his lap, the sound that was muffled by a scarlet and gold carpet on the floor. Robin cursed and crouched to take the box back. He gathered all the rings and necklaces from the carpet. As he was about to put them back to the box, his attention was suddenly attracted by the small leather-bound volume that lay on the floor next to the delicately carved wooden piece, which looked like a false bottom for the box.

Robin of Locksley shook his head in disbelief, amazed and bewildered, his mind racing in desperate attempt to find explanations why his father had gone to a great deal of trouble to keep the small volume, perhaps the diary, concealed from prying eyes. What was so vital and so important that Malcolm of Locksley had felt impelled to place the strange volume in such a secret hiding place where nobody could have suspected to find it?

Robin was puzzled and curious. His father should have had a dark mystery if he had hidden his diary so well. He sighed heavily and prepared himself to spend several hours with the truth about the past. The only thing he didn’t know was that his old life would be ruined in a moment. Had he known about that beforehand, he would have probably preferred to never read his father’s diary.

§§§

Robin dragged a deep breath. His heart beating so frantically that he thought it could leap out of his chest, he opened the volume. His eyes fell at the date on the page he opened – January 1168, almost a year before his birth. Robin lowered his head and began reading; he smiled at the sight of Malcolm’s large calligraphic handwriting that was so easily readable and understandable, and he remembered it so well from his childhood.

_My dear Elizabeth, my sweet wife, fair-haired and green-eyed, has made me extremely happy with the news – our child will arrive in September or October. I would be happy to have everyone, a daughter or a son. I know that I am the last of my line, and it is imperative that I have a son to carry on the title, but if we  have a daughter this time, God will give us a son later._

It was so unusual to read through his father’s diary! Robin smiled heartily, thinking about his parents, who had married for love and had been very happy together until his mother's death in childbirth. As Malcolm and Elizabeth of Locksley had expected their child to be born in the autumn of 1168, he supposed that his father had meant him. He let out a small laugh and continued reading.

_What a magically happy day! I am again at court in London. I am so happy that I didn’t stay in Locksley or in Huntingdon because life is boring and dull there. I know that my sweet, glorious wife, my beloved Elizabeth, is carrying my child, but it doesn’t mean that I have to bury myself in Locksley._

_Elizabeth became very annoying and lashes out at me day and night. She is very fragile and her eyes are often filled with tears of frustration that I am not always at her side. She doesn’t understand that childbearing and childbirth are woman’s deals, and I don’t have to be chained to her for nine months. I love her very much, but I cannot tolerate her strange behavior only because she is pregnant._

_Here, at the royal court, everything is so different, strikingly different. I am so happy in the splendor and magnificence of court. Everyone laughs and smiles, enjoys feasts and festivities given by King Henry and Queen Eleanor. This is another world, and this life is much better than life in my country estates._

He stared blankly at the page, almost as if the words were playing a trick with him. He felt anger building in his chest, and frantic, vulgar curses were boiling in his throat. When his mother was pregnant with _him_ , his father entertained himself at court! Robin’s face contorted in rage; he was disgusted with Malcolm’s words and behavior. Looking at the diary, he skipped several pages and continued reading.

Robin frowned, then skimmed quickly over the heavy strokes of Malcolm’s handwriting. The two months Malcolm spent at court were described in extraordinary details. Malcolm wrote about magnificent feasts and festivities, card games, dancing, and other entertainments, courtly love games, which were encouraged and worshiped by Queen Eleanor, as well as about King Henry’s infamous infidelities. His father wrote a lot about Queen Eleanor’s unhappiness in her marriage. The diary was full of everyday happenings, his father’s deepest thoughts and emotions, and there was a reference to another woman, who greatly attracted Malcolm and seemed to have grown fond of him.

Robin’s frown deepened. How could his father be so much involved in court life when Elizabeth of Locksley was waiting for his return in Nottinghamshire? Was his father smitten with another woman? Robin sighed heavily, and his fingers turned the pages, his eyes flying across the written words. And then he found Malcolm’s notes made in the late January of 1168.

_I just made the most questionable decision of my life. I am going to betray my marriage vows and be with her, with this lady whose image haunts me every minute, day and night. I don’t love her, and even her extraordinary beauty and notoriousness cannot make me love her. But I have never wanted any other woman as much as I want her. I want her to be completely mine, the lady of my dreams and the lady of the highest standing in England, with all my being, with every fibre of my body. She is not very young, she is older than me, but she is still so beautiful that I cannot breathe and my heart starts hammering harder when she looks at me and her rosy lips curve in a cold and majestic smile._

_Eleanor, the Queen of England and the notorious Duchess of Aquitaine, wants to have me in her bed. I could have never dreamt that I would attract the queen’s attention and that she would wish to take me as her lover as much as I wish her to be in my arms. Her lovely face, her blue eyes like the sky in sunny weather, her beautiful body, her cold and proud facial features, her regalness and even her cruelty – everything charm me so much that I cannot resist. I feel as if she had bewitched me, and I am entirely hers._

_Eleanor doesn’t love me and I don’t love her, but we are attracted to one another and I became her confident. But she is so unhappy in her marriage, with our magnificent young King who betrays her with her ladies-in-waiting, kitchen maids, daughters of noblemen, and even with peasant girls._

_Eleanor once told me that she grew to hate her husband, even though she was madly in love with him when she accepted his marriage proposal. She once came to talk to me, she was very distressed and was crying, and I saw that her beautiful neck was bruised. I realized that King Henry, who drank much at banquets and feasts, had beaten his wife; Eleanor didn’t tell me, but I noticed similar bruises on her neck twice, and that was enough to make my blood boil with anger._

Keeping the place with his finger, Robin closed the book for a moment and leaned back in his chair. He was shocked and repulsed with his father, who forgot about his mother so easily and was so much attracted to the Queen of England. At least now he realized why his father had hidden the diary so well. He had to learn more what Malcolm had with Queen Eleanor, and he again opened the diary. He came to the entry dated February 1168.

_I am the most ignoble and wretched of all men. I forgot about my wife whom I love. I betrayed not only myself, but my dear wife as well. None of that is Elizabeth’s fault, for she is innocent, and I have no right to betray her, but I can no longer fight with my desires and I cannot lose his chance to have Queen Eleanor in my bed. It is a rare honor to be the queen’s lover, and I intend to use my chance._

_Queen Eleanor came to me again last night, and we had a long, passionate lovemaking. She tasted of glory, beauty, passion, and challenge. Dear God, I wanted her so much that I thought I would die from urgent need to possess her, from pleasure. I know that what I am doing is not right and is unfair to my wife Elizabeth, but having an affair with the queen is my most cherished dream. I cannot stop now, even if I condemn myself to eternal damnation; I cannot reject a brilliant opportunity to be with Eleanor._

_My poor Elizabeth! She writes that she often feels unwell and spends much time in the bed, confined to the bedchamber. She is pale and unhealthy, and the doctors are concerned about her health. She wants me to come back to Locksley or to Huntingdon, but I cannot return and I don’t want to do that. I love Elizabeth very much, and I often dream of her smile, her sweet face and her gorgeous eyes. I am shuddering at the thought of what may happen if Elizabeth learns about my relationship with Eleanor._

_But Queen Eleanor is different. I am attracted to her beyond any reason and measure. Passion for her overpowers me entire being; I can ignore all norms of moral and honor to be with her. She is a pure wanton seductress. I understand why so many Aquitanian troubadours worship her as a goddess of love and an unfading beauty of the world. I understand why so many men have always been at her feet, ready to go to the ends of the earth to be with her, even if they can have nothing in return. It is not love – it is a burning passion, overwhelming and destructive. I love having the queen in my bed, and it will be like ripping my still beating heart out of my chest if Eleanor ever demands to stop our meetings._

Robin swallowed a gasp, his eyes widening in shock. His father toyed with Lady Elizabeth of Locksley’s feelings and slept with Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine! He couldn’t believe what he was learning from the diary. He wished that he had never seen Malcolm’s diary, but it was too late.

§§§

Robin resented Malcolm for tarnishing Queen Eleanor. He couldn’t understand how his father found it possible to sleep with the Queen of England. He hated his father for his wickedness and dishonor. He loathed his father for the fact that a beautiful and powerful woman could make him overstep moral rules and abandon his pregnant wife in order to enjoy pleasantries of court and continue his secret love affair with Queen Eleanor.

Robin wasn’t a saint and used to have many lovers, but he would have never admitted a simple thought of sleeping with Queen Berengaria even if she tried to seduce him; he would have never betrayed King Richard in such a low, vicious way. There were things which a subject could never do to his king and his queen, and everyone should have known that, although Malcolm of Locksley had ignored all  sacred principles of honor, which he himself had taught Robin in childhood.

“What other secrets are hidden in this diary?” Robin murmured to himself.

He had to learn what happened between Queen Eleanor and his father. He had to understand what else his father had done. He wanted to know the truth about his father and possibly himself, even if it could be _the bitter truth_ ; the words sounded like a whisper, so much like a plea. Robin forced himself to read more; the next entry was dated April 1168.

_Eleanor came to my room at midnight, alone and dressed only in her silk robe. Today she was distressed and cruel. She blamed me that I had brought so many problems on her, saying that if she could have predicted the outcome of our liaison, she would have never slept with me. We quarreled a lot, but then we both succumbed to temptation, and I again tasted the forbidden sweetness of her body._

_When Eleanor began crying, and I asked her what happened. She said nothing and only shook her head; tears were streaming down her pale cheeks, but she still looked as beautiful an immortal goodness. Once I touched her cheek and she raised her tear-stained face to mine, we were lost again._ _When we finally parted with great reluctance, for the first time, there was a long silence between us._

_And then Eleanor told me that she was expecting my child. I was speechless and utterly shocked, but Eleanor said that she would take care of everything. She is so intelligent and so rational, and she has already decided what she would do. She said that she would hide her pregnancy from King Henry and everyone in the world. Then she would give the child into a family of one of her loyal Saxon or Norman lords. King Henry would never learn the truth, and if he does, then we are doomed to die._

_Eleanor also learnt that my wife was pregnant. She accused me of being a heartless womanizer, and then she ordered me to return to my wife to Locksley. She repeated that she would let me know about the child if she herself wanted that and asked me not to worry. She ordered to keep silent and never utter a word about our affair to anyone, especially my wife._

Robin drew an agonizing breath. He looked deeply troubled, feeling his heart fill up with apprehension, but not knowing what else he could read in Malcolm’s diary. He couldn’t believe that his father had gotten the Queen of England pregnant. Many questions were flying wildly through his feverish brain, and he kept reading, with the terrifying sensation of suddenly stepping into a dark, fathomless abyss.

There were no more entries between April and October 1168. Robin skimmed a page, and his gaze fell on October 14, 1168, the day of his birth and Elizabeth of Locksley’s death. The disastrous childbirth lasted two days, and Elizabeth’s sufferings were described in great details. Robin’s heart was broken, aching for his father; Malcolm seemed to have been genuinely shocked with Elizabeth’s death. What puzzled Robin was that there was no word about the child – about _him,_ as he believed.

He looked through several more pages and encountered another entry, which nearly killed him, his world was in tatters. His life was full of lies and illusions. His heart was bleeding, his world was broken.

_Elizabeth had given birth to my daughter by the end of the second day of her labor. My daughter was stillborn and very small; the midwife said that she had no chance to survive. We named her Adele as Elizabeth wished. The midwife gave me a sad look and declared that my wife had contracted childbed fever and that there was nothing that could have saved her._

_I shut the door of the bedroom to be together with my Elizabeth in her last minutes. I didn’t want to be disturbed. I had to watch for another day how Elizabeth tossed and turned in her bed, suffering from childbed fever and barely clinging to life. She died at dawn. I would never forgive myself that I didn’t spent much time with her in the months before her death. Everyone was dead. I was dead inside._

_After her death, I refused to leave the chamber and stayed near Elizabeth’s bed. My grief was overwhelming, and I thought of killing myself. I loved my wife and she was gone. I didn’t come out of the room until the late night. The servants didn’t know that my wife died and impatiently waited for the news with somber and sullen faces._

_I would have been alone in the whole world, if I didn’t receive a secret note through Thornton on the same evening. Thornton knocked at the door and said that he had an urgent matter to discuss with me. I didn’t answer to his pleas until he said that it was from Kirklees Abbey, where Eleanor was hiding from her husband throughout many months. I opened the door, and my life changed._

_My heart was pounding so hard that I thought I would die on the spot. Eleanor gave birth to my son, one month and a half earlier than she had expected. The childbirth nearly took her life, and she barely survived. Although the boy was born prematurely, he was strong and healthy, with my pale blue eyes and charming dimples on his cheeks. I had a son with Eleanor. I wasn’t alone._

_Eleanor wrote that she had learnt about my wife’s untimely death and she gave me her condolences. I learnt that the midwife, who attended Elizabeth’s childbirth, was Eleanor’s spy. As Elizabeth’s death wasn’t announced yet, Eleanor offered to replace the children – to take the boy and raise him as my and Elizabeth’s son. She wrote that the tragedy could have been used to my advantage because I raise the boy and make him my heir._

_I had to take the boy and made no announcement that both my wife and the child had died. Instead, I had to say that my wife died but my son survived. Eleanor assured me that she would take care of everything and that everyone who knew about the secret and that they would be silenced forever. And I did what she advised: I came to my people and declared that my wife had given me a handsome and healthy boy, though at the price of her own life._

_On the same night, two women, cloaked in the black woolen coats, arrived with Thornton, who became our agreeable servant and the keeper of our secret. They brought the small bundle to me – the baby boy. As soon as I took the boy in my arms, I fell in love with him on the spot. He was peacefully sleeping but stirred when I caressed his chubby cheek with my thumb. He was so small, but he was heavy and healthy. Darkness dissolved, and I saw the light in my life – my son._

_The fact that I had a son chased away most of the dark shadows from my heart, replacing them with joy._

_There was Eleanor’s note in the baby’s garments. She wrote that she had named my son Robert or Robin, and she demanded that I used the same name. When the boy was sleeping in his crib, the window was ajar and the bird flew inside the chamber from the forest near the abbey. The bird landed on the edge of the crib and started twittering – it was a robin. Eleanor decided that the name was good for our son; it was kind of symbolical, too. Since then, my Robin and I live together in Locksley._

Robin closed the volume and threw it on the carpet. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against hot tears. He climbed to his feet and walked slowly to the window, as if he were going to have a look on the sun that was sinking into the vast blue sea, as if the sunset was a symbol of the end of his life. His eyes filled with bitter tears that trickled down his cheeks, and a heavy, pulsating ache was building in his heart and spreading in waves through his entire being.

He turned around and stared at the diary on the floor. He had never expected that he would learn such intimate things from his father’s private life. He had never imagined that the woman he had called his mother wasn’t his natural mother and that _he was a bastard_. He swallowed with difficulty as a lump formed in his throat. His life was ruined, and he didn’t know what to think of the truth and how to live with the knowledge that all his life was a fairy-tale created for him by Queen Eleanor.

Robin returned to a chair and collected the small volume from the floor; then he continued reading his father’s diary. There were a great deal of entries about Malcolm’s love for Robin, his deep mourning for Elizabeth, and the guilt for the betrayal of Elizabeth which corroded his father’s heart. There was no word about Queen Eleanor, apart from the only one that she had been imprisoned by her husband. Throughout many pages, it was as if Eleanor had disappeared from Malcolm’s life, entirely and completely. The diary was full of day-to-day happenings in Locksley and in Huntingdon; many entries were devoted to Robin’s life and his unusual character.

Many other entries were about the Gisborne family, especially about Lady Ghislaine of Gisborne, whom Malcolm had grown very fond of and whom he helped to run her estate in Roger of Gisborne’s absence. Robin’s father wrote that Ghislaine wanted Robin to marry her daughter Isabella of Gisborne, but Malcolm betrothed Robin to Marian of Knighton, Sir Edward of Knighton’s daughter, to ensure Edward’s loyalty to Queen Eleanor, for they had to keep Robin’s true parentage in secret.

Robin gave an exclamation of surprise at the revelation that Sir Edward had always known the secret of his true parentage; he also began to respect the deceased man much more than ever before, for Edward had been keeping the Locksley secret and had been always loyal to Queen Eleanor until his death. Yet, he didn’t comprehend how Sir Edward managed to learn the truth and what role he played in the replacement of Malcolm’s stillborn daughter with Robin.

He flipped through several pages, stopping to read the paragraphs about Malcolm’s love escapades with Ghislaine of Gisborne and his deep love for her. He had never suspected that his father had had a liaison with Guy’s mother for several months before Roger of Gisborne’s return from the Holy Land.

He stared down, in shocked disbelief, at the entry about the birth of Ghislaine and Malcolm’s son, who was named Archer due to the birthmark in a shape of arrows on his chest. Never had Robin expected that his father had sired a bastard son with Guy’s mother and had planned to marry her. Archer’s birth was the last entry in the diary, and Robin closed the volume, his eyes cold and hard.

Robin sat motionless and frozen, like an antique statue, holding his father’s diary in his hands, his mind racing in a flurry of thoughts, tears oozing in the corners of his eyes. Trying to banish the thoughts of his father’s liaisons with Queen Eleanor and Ghislaine of Gisborne, he strained to listen to the footsteps in the corridor. Then he heard someone open the door to the chamber, and he felt with his skin that the intruder’s curious gaze.

Robin turned around and his eyes fell on King Richard who stood at the doorway, a grin lurking on his liege’s lips. Robin stared at the King of England, his expression absent-minded; a wave of shock passed through him as the realization dawned upon him– Richard was his half-brother. He lowered his head and glanced in horror at the diary, then lifted his gaze at Richard, who intercepted the direction of his gaze.

“Why are you here, Robin?” King Richard asked cautiously.

Looking up at the king, he drew a swift, short breath. “I needed some time alone, sire. Am I to have an audience even now?” He didn’t stand up to bow to the king.

Richard looked surprised before anxiety flashed in his eyes. “Quite likely if your wife or I need you,” he replied with a straight face, ignoring Robin’s disrespectful tone and dropping royal etiquette. “Tongues and opinions are busy today. We signed the peace treaty with Saladin, but you seem to be unhappy.”

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and Robin sighed, realizing that the king pretended that he didn’t pay attention to his subject’s rudeness. “I didn’t do anything dishonorable here.”

“Of course not,” the lion said.

Robin inclined his head in courtesy. “Thank you for not reprimanding me.”

“What happened, Robin?”

“Nothing,” Robin muttered.          

The king came to him and, looking with concern at the younger man’s ghostly pale face, he took the small volume from Robin’s arms. As he opened the diary and quickly looked through it; he blanched, his face evolving into sheer disbelief and then into utter shock. “Who gave you this diary?”

“I found it in the hiding place, in the box where my father kept his jewels, including the jewels of the Huntingdons. The box had a false bottom.”

The lion sighed. “Did you ever see it before?”

“No, I didn’t, milord.”

King Richard exhaled sharply and glanced away for a moment before he swung his gaze back to Robin. “I have never wanted you to learn the truth in this manner,” he declared glumly.

Robin shook his head, as if he were trying to shake off unreality. His already pale features now seemed even paler. “I hoped I imagined that. Is it true?” he asked, almost choking on every word.

The king didn’t answer for a while, gathering his composure and thinking of what he could have told Robin. The room fell deathly silent. His heart beating in thick strokes, Robin stared at the king’s somber face, and he saw that there was the lost and sorrowful look in Richard’s eyes that were kind despite the monarch’s tight expression and rigid posture.

“It is true, Robin,” Richard said at last.

“It is hardly the good truth,” Robin managed to say.

“Make yourself comfortable and prepare to listen. It is a long story,” the king stated as he settled into a red brocade armchair near the window that overlooked the formally laid-out garden. “I will tell you everything I know, but I warn you that I am not aware of some details.”

The King of England began the long, intricate story about Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine’s miserable marriage to King Henry II of England, Henry’s disrespectful treatment of the queen and his sons, the story which was full of sorrow and pain. Richard said only a few words about Malcolm of Locksley’s affair with Queen Eleanor. He revealed that King Henry had learnt the truth about Robin’s real parentage from Sir Roger of Gisborne, who had sought to buy Henry’s forgiveness for the treason he had committed in the Holy Land when he had disclosed the queen’s secret to her husband. Then the king jumped to the horrid story about Queen Eleanor’s imprisonment, introducing many spicy details in his take. Richard talked about Robin’s horrible abduction by Bailiff Longthorn and mentioned several assassination attempts on Robin’s life that had happened after the fire at Gisborne Manor.

Robin stared at the king in a stunned silence. He wanted nothing so much as to bury his face in his hands and weep. His expression was hard to define – it was a curious mixture of regret, pain, wariness, despair, and relief. Richard continued speaking, with his face impenetrable, for at least half an hour before he lapsed into silence and gave Robin a prick-eared and searching look. There was a shattering silence, punctuated only by their agitated breathing.

Soon that lethal silence became unbearable, and then the king spoke at last, his features devoid of all emotions, his voice calm, but his gaze grim. “I don’t know the details of the affair our mother had with your father. And even if I knew the truth, I wouldn’t have told you because I have no right to inform you about such intimate details of our mother’s private life.”

Robin stared at the king, wondering how long Richard had known the truth. He wished to question him again, and his heart sank, for he was equally afraid to hear his reply. “ _The truth is bitter, sire_ ,” he uttered uneasily. His voice was low and unsteady.

“ _But it is the truth, my dear Robin_.”

Robin shook his head in disbelief. “Am I really Queen Eleanor’s son?” He couldn’t believe that it was true. He was trying to reject the very idea that he wasn’t Lady Elizabeth of Locksley’s son.

“ _Yes, you are, Robin_.”

“Then… you are my…” Robin stammered. He couldn’t speak. He was overwhelmed.

“I am your half-brother,” King Richard finished with a cautious and strained smile, but also a smile of rare warmth. “You share with me the blood of my better half – our mother’s blood.”

“Oh,” Robin breathed, lowering his head.

“Whatever you want it or not, Robin, you have to accept the truth.” The king leaned heedfully back in his chair, staring outside, into the fashionable gardens; then his gaze turned back to Robin.

Robin shut his eyes for a moment, feeling as if he were descending to hell. Images of his past life – the life that was his and yet that didn’t feel like his – haunted him.

Powerful waves of conflicted emotions effused from within Robin’s heart, and heartache was tearing apart his body, heart, and soul. Everything in his life was a great lie! The truth shocked him so much that he was in a state of ice-cold panic. He could feel the frantic beating of his own heart. Never before had he been so lost and so confused. He didn’t know how to react and know what to think of King Richard in the wake of the new revelations. He was falling into the deepest depths of despair.

§§§

Robin couldn’t begin to understand all the emotions seething through him: anger, regret, fury, perhaps a feeling of genuine kinship, as well as longing, love, and disbelief. He only knew that he loved King Richard as his king and a dear, very dear friend. As strong as he had ever felt for anyone, Robin could definitely say that the only pleasant thing out of the truth was that he loved – dearly loved – Richard. And it was a real, vibrant, vital feeling that he and Richard cared for each other so much. Out of all the emotions streaking through him, his love and admiration for the king, as well as his great respect to the lion, were the most real and understandable feelings.

Robin stared at Richard, his king and his newly found half-brother. “If I may ask you a question, sire, how long have you known all the truth?”

“For a long time,” Richard replied tiredly, suddenly looking older than his real age was. “I learnt the truth on the day when I visited our mother in her prison, at Pontefract Castle. She confessed to me in her love affair with Sir Malcolm of Locksley, and she begged me to help her handle Bailiff Longthorn who tried to kill you at the order of my father.”

“Now I understand,” Robin said dryly, suddenly aware of the entire situation as his past emerged in his mind in all its sickening clarity. “It was you who saved me from the bailiff when he stole me from Locksley and held me in one of the castles in the north, waiting for our good and gracious King Henry to arrive from Normandy and have a look at the queen’s bastard before murdering him.”

“You have a very shrewd mind.”

Robin looked pensive. “I was a small child at that time, but I have quite clear memories about my imprisonment.” He paled. “I remember that it was very cold and damp in the cell where I was held.” Tears suspended his voice, and he gallantly brought his emotions under control; only then he spoke again. “And… I was very hungry because the bailiff took a particular pleasure in making me starve. He liked taunting me that I was no more than a small worthless puppy, starved and beaten. He also called me _a little bastard puppy_ , but at that time I didn’t understand that.”

The lion looked saddened. “Forget about that. It brings only bad emotions.” He sighed. “Some things must be forgotten or left unsaid.”

“Hmm, not these things,” Robin objected. “Why did you save my life, milord?”

Richard smiled softly. “I saved you because our mother asked me to do that. I did that for her.”

“Why didn’t the queen do something to help me?” Robin laughed acidly. “My father wrote in his diary that your… mother, sire, had refused to ever see the child, and it had happened before she was imprisoned.” He made a helpless gesture, grinning ruefully. “Of course, she didn’t care for a bastard whose existence threatened to spoil her life.” He deliberately refrained from calling Eleanor his mother.

The king slowly shook his head in disagreement, ignoring Robin’s venomous statement about Queen Eleanor. “Robin, you must be reasonable. Before you accuse our mother of something, remember that she was imprisoned for more than fifteen years. Have you forgotten that my father placed her under a permanent house arrest after the unsuccessful revolt of 1173?”

“I do remember about that,” Robin said quietly.

“My father was nothing more than a cruel and annoying presence in our lives. He imprisoned mother after he had captured her on the coast when she was going to sail from Dover , and initially she was placed to the damp dungeons of Dover Castle.”

Robin gave a slight nod. “I remember history,” he echoed his previous words.

“Then you should understand why she couldn’t have helped you and why she confessed in everything to me,” the king continued flatly. “When my father learnt about the secret from Sir Roger of Gisborne, he was outraged. Our mother lost her last chance to ever be freed while my father was alive.”

“What did King Henry do to her?”

The lion’s eyes darkened with remembered distress. “Henry Plantagenet ordered to toughen our mother’s conditions of imprisonment.” He sighed heavily, collecting his composure. “Under convoy and accompanied by several loyal ladies-in-waiting, mother was delivered to the north of England, to Pontefract Castle. Sir John de Lacy, Roger de Lacy’s father, was never loyal to mother, and he kindly agreed to keep the rebellious Queen of England under heavy guard and in pretty miserable conditions. In the first years after my father had learnt the truth about mother’s adultery and the birth of the child, he reduced the queen to living in conditions worse than any most dangerous criminal can have.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Robin commented genuinely. A lance of anger stabbed through him at the thought of the queen’s suffering at the order of the old king.

An expression of utter loathing on his face, the king stiffened and clenched his fists. “I have always loathed my father, but it wasn’t until I visited mother at Pontefract Castle when I started hating him. God forgive me, but I wish it was father instead of mother who was imprisoned!” He gave a bitter little laugh. “I was prohibited to see our mother, but one of her most loyal ladies, Legrand’s mother by the way, brought to me her note with an urgent request for the meeting, and I rode as a madman to Pontefract from London for three days and nights.”

“And then she confessed?”

“Yes, she did.”

“And what happened then?”

“After I had found you and killed Bailiff Longthorn, I delivered you back to Locksley, and then I brought to you my doctor, who tended to your wounds and tried to cure your fever. We didn’t want to cause more gossip than it had already circulated since the day of your disappearance from Locksley. Nobody knew where you were, and we quickly made up a tale that you had departed to Huntingdon, so our small lie covered the interval between your disappearance, your salvation from the vile bailiff, and your return to Locksley after your complete recovery.”

“But I was indeed brought to Huntingdon! When I awoke, I was in Huntingdon, not in Locksley!”

“Robin, you were feverish when my two loyal men, Sir Edward of Knighton, and I delivered you to Locksley. I think you simply couldn’t remember those dreadful moments. I spent two nights with you, and then I ordered to secretly transport you to Huntingdon, so nobody knew what happened.”

Robin arched a brow. “Sir Edward of Knighton?”

“Yes. Mother said that Sir Edward had helped them conceal the truth from the beginning and that he would help me free you. Under the cover of the night, I rode from Pontefract to Knighton and found Sir Edward there. Sir Edward told me everything about your abduction by Longthorn. Sir Edward was trying to find you during those three months while you were imprisoned, but he had no means to do that.” He sighed heavily. “After I came to Knighton Hall and he told me the story of your disappearance and abduction, I devised the effective plan to find and free you. Then we spent several days investigating your whereabouts. Finally, we found and saved you.”

“Sir Edward was my father’s old friend,” Robin remarked.

“I know.”

“Did Sir Edward know who you were, sire?”

The lion laughed, which was a joyful sound. “Yes, he did. He was amazed that I, Prince Richard at that time, came to his manor at dawn and assaulted him with questions about you.”

“He was an honorable man,” Robin said.

“Yes, he was.”

“You killed the bailiff, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” the lion confirmed. “I beheaded Longthorn like a dog, for he deserved a cruel death. We dag a grave and threw his body there. He wasn’t given a Christian burial as I didn’t want anyone to know what happened.” He smirked darkly. “I was very young, only nineteen, but I already commanded large troops and rebelled against my own father. Beheading didn’t seem to be an extraordinary thing.”

Robin brushed his palm over the side of his sandy hair that roguishly hung over his forehead. “But why King Henry stopped persecuting me and allowed me to live in peace as the Earl of Huntingdon?”

A heavy silence stretched between them. The king watched Robin intently, the expression on his face hard to define, as he was thinking whether he could reveal more pieces of the bitter truth.

“We had a long conversation with my father. It was a difficult and unforgettable chat,” Richard said honestly, his nervousness palpable, his eyes lingering at Robin’s face. “Your father, Sir Malcolm, was dead.” He paused and cleared his throat; he decided not to tell Robin more shocking news that his father’s death had been fabricated. “My father was infuriated that you were alive, but he agreed to let you live on certain conditions.”

Robin gave him a startled look. “Which conditions?”

The king let out a deep sigh. “Although it was not easy, father and I reached an agreement. I pledged to ensure that nobody would ever learn about your true parentage.” He stared down and twisted his fingers. “There is something else...”

“What?” Robin was impatient.

The king looked straight into Robin’s eyes. “My father wanted to make sure that the Gisborne children would remain dispossessed and exiled from England, that you would never return their former lands to them. I knew that Guy and Isabella of Gisborne were banished from Locksley after the fire. They were already exiled and dispossessed, and it was not difficult to make such a promise to my father.”

Robin looked amazed; something inside him snapped, spilled over. “Why did he want that?”

Richard sighed. “Sir Roger of Gisborne had been a loyal knight to my father, but he betrayed him in the Holy Land. My father wanted to punish him, as well as his offspring.” He cleared his throat. “There was also another thing. Lady Ghislaine of Gisborne was my father’s mistress before her marriage to Sir Roger, and she was hastily married off to Roger after father had discarded her.”

“But why?” Robin looked thoroughly alarmed. “Was Lady Ghislaine… with child?”

The lion inclined his head in acknowledgement of the fact. “Yes.”

“Is Guy of Gisborne…?” Robin asked, his face pale and shocked.

“Guy of Gisborne is my father’s illegitimate son. Our mother was sympathetic with Lady Ghislaine and arranged her marriage to Roger of Gisborne to save the lady’s reputation,” Richard confirmed, scowling severely. “But Lady Ghislaine was very ungrateful and told her husband, Sir Roger, the truth about your birth. She betrayed her Queen after all our mother’s kindness to her, and her telltale tongue caused much misery to Sir Malcolm, you, and her own family.”

Robin felt as though earth had been shaking behind him. “Then Guy of Gisborne is your half-brother…”

“You heard me correctly. Guy of Gisborne is my half-brother on my father’s side, one of very many bastards my father sired on his numerous mistresses and whores,” the lion said neutrally. “And you, Robin, are my half-brother on my mother’s side.”

“I am, am I not?” Robin spelled out slowly, in amazement.

“You are, whatever you want that or not.”

Robin blinked, shocked. “But then why King Henry wanted to punish his own son?”

There was a long silence as Richard’s lips pressed thin and white with anger; when he spoke, his voice chilled the air. “My father never cared about his illegitimate children and even his legitimate ones; he loved John most of all among his offspring and spoiled him too much. He acknowledged some of his bastards, but the majority of them weren’t granted this doubtful privilege.” He paused and sighed. “Many of his mistresses didn’t have a good life after father discarded them, and Lady Ghislaine was pretty unlucky.”

“Why is that so?” Robin’s voice was thick, a scowl manifesting on his face.

“There were rumors that Lady Ghislaine was unfaithful to her lover, the King of England. When she informed father about her delicate condition, he laughed into her face and declared that he wasn’t sure that she carried his child,” Richard reported. “Our mother helped Ghislaine and found Roger of Gisborne for the role of the lady’s husband to cover her shame.”

“And what happened next?”

Richard turned away, and Robin could not see his expression. “My father never believed that Guy was his son, and Lady Ghislaine’s so-called betrayal of her faithfulness to her king hurt my father’s pride and ego. Later, when he learnt about Roger of Gisborne’s high treason and his mysterious survival in the Holy Land, he wanted Sir Roger dead. Later he also wished to punish the Gisborne offspring for Ghislaine’s so-called betrayal and for Roger’s treason.”

With something between amusement and trepidation, Robin stared at his liege. “And then you agreed to sacrifice your own half-brother to save another half-brother from King Henry’s wrath,” he concluded. 

The lion leaned back on his armchair, staring uneasily at Robin. “I had to do that to save you, Robin, to let you live in peace in your estates.”

“You sacrificed one half-brother to save another one. You sacrificed one bastard for another bastard.”

“I didn’t care for Guy, but I cared for our mother. I felt that it was my responsibility to save you and give you a normal life you deserved.”

“Sire, you think that I deserved it? Why?”

“You did deserve everything the best we could give you because you are the son of my beloved mother, for whom I can willingly sacrifice my own life; you are not my father’s son.”

Robin cringed at the chillness in his liege’s tone. “Not your father’s son,” he said automatically.

“Yes. You know my attitude to my father: I loathe and hate him.”

“I do understand your feelings.”

A frowned creased Richard’s forehead. “Then please don’t ask me such strange questions.”

Robin drew in a sharp breath. “When I was fifteen, I went to Poitiers to have the knighthood training under Lord Sheridan’s leadership. Sir Edward told me that he arranged everything and that it was a brilliant opportunity for me.”

“I promised to take care of you, so that I sent my personal invitation to Sir Edward.”

“I was your ward from fifteen to eighteen, and I often wondered why it was so.”

“It was done at my initiative, and Sir Edward agreed,” the king explained.

“Why did you need that, milord?”

“Robin, it was necessary. I had known that I would have to fight for my throne with my own father several years before the rebellion actually took place.” A heavy sigh tumbled from the king’s mouth. “I was the eldest surviving son of the king, but father didn’t want me to be the King of England. He wanted John to be his heir – always John, his only favorite and hope for a bright future! Father disliked me most of all among his sons because I am mother’s favorite child.”

Richard gazed away, at the window. Looking at the king, he realized, with a painful thump of his heart, that the king was wistful and sad, even if his liege’s face was impassive. He could feel Richard’s sadness pulsating in waves all around him. The sun had already set a while ago; darkness deepened, and the moon rose bright and full in the black sky.

“I am so sorry for reminding you of that.” Robin felt guilty that he saddened Richard whose heart was aching because of his father’s rejection. Robin had no idea how the lion could have felt knowing father didn’t love his son just because his mother loved him. Yet, he saw that the king’s sorrow was the devastating experience, which his liege revealed to him for the first time in many years.

“No need to apologize.”

“You had wanted me to be out of England by the time the rebellion started?”

“Exactly. You have always had a keen and lofty intellect,” the king praised. “It was dangerous to leave you in England when the rebellion was about to start. Therefore, I planned to summon you to court in Poitiers at least six months before the war with my father.” He paused, sighing deeply. “You were my ward, and your life at court in Aquitaine didn’t look suspicious. Your absence in England didn’t attract unwanted attention, which is why I made you my ward when you turned fifteen.”

“And you summoned me, milord.”

“I invited you to spend time in Aquitaine. I didn’t issue an order,” Richard corrected. “I knew that you would be tempted by a chance to improve your fighting skills. I sponsored a new advanced training especially for you and some other knights, including Robert de Beaumont.”

Robin's full mouth curved into a faint smile. King Richard was a cunning man, more cunning than he had ever thought. He had known the lion for many years, but he was still amazed how many aspects of his liege’s personality he didn’t understand. Richard was a mysterious man in so many aspects.

“You thought out everything in advance.”

The lion’s lips lengthened in a smug smile. “Precisely, Robin. I had to do that, knowing your mischievous and rebellious nature.”

An impish grin curved Robin’s mouth. “And if I hadn’t come there, what would have happened?”

A frankly mischievous smile tugged at the king’s lips. “Is it a challenge?”

“Are there any consequences?” Robin said, excitement lighting up his face.

The monarch cast a mocking look at his subject. “Your challenge to my authority of your guardian would have been responded. I would have exercised my legal right to make decisions about many aspects of your life, including choosing the place of your residence. I would have removed you from England by force as a disobedient ward by sending a convoy of armed men to Nottingham and making you relocate to Poitiers. But you didn’t reject my invitation, and I didn’t have to use drastic measures.”

“I spent more than a year at your court in Poitiers while you fought with your father for the throne,” Robin reminisced. “You sent to me your page with a letter, in which you prohibited me to go back to England until your notice. Only when the old king died, I was allowed to depart to Nottingham.”

“I could have lost that war or be killed in battle, and I didn’t want to risk your life, Robin. If I had lost, my father could have gone back on his word.” The king shook his head, at the same time crossing his arms on his broad chest. “I couldn’t have allowed my father to persecute or kill you. Thus, I ordered you to stay in Aquitaine until I knew the outcome of my war with father for the throne.”

Robin went still, very still. He inhaled and exhaled sharply as he struggled to digest the mind-blowing revelations; he was terrified out of his wits by the number of things that turned out to be a lie in his life. The truth touched something deep inside of him, a part of him he had always kept intact. He was frightened by the raw emotion rushing through his heart. He had never thought that he had survived the dark period after his father’s death only thanks to King Richard and Sir Edward.

“I must thank you for the salvation of my life. I owe you,” Robin whispered.

King Richard smiled. “You owe me nothing.”

“No, I do.”

“You saved my life many times. Your debt, though there was no debt, was redeemed a long time ago.”

Closing his eyes, Robin let the memories unfold. “When I arrived at court in Poitiers for the first time and was introduced to you, sire, you suddenly showed interest in me. You gave me swordplay lessons, you talked to me a lot, and you invited me for private dinners and hunting parties. You offered me your friendship. We quickly became close, to my utter surprise, I have to say.”

King Richard smiled vaguely. “When I saved you from Longthorn, I didn’t know that I would ever love you… and trust you. And then I saw you in Poitiers, I knew who you were, and you peaked my interest. I discovered that I liked you very much; it was the reason why I offered you my friendship.”

“Sire, I told you about the fire that consumed my father. I told you that I felt guilty as I let the villagers banish the Gisbornes from Locksley. I said that I wanted to find Guy of Gisborne and transfer the former Gisborne lands on Guy’s name. And you strongly discouraged me from trying to contact Guy.”

“My father was alive at that time. We couldn’t have risked your life.”

“For God’s sake, milord!” Robin raised his voice. “King Henry has been dead for several years by now, and there has been no threat to my life during all this time. You could have told me the truth several years ago! But you preferred to keep silent and let me feel guilty that I was unfair to Gisborne.”

“I remember that you had tried to find Guy of Gisborne before we went on the Crusade.”

“I went to Normandy and crossed it several times, but I failed to find him.”

“I know. I discouraged you to try it again because it was too late to make amends after so many years. I wanted to protect you from the painful memories that could hurt you.”

His heart beating frenziedly, Robin’s eyes glittered furiously at the king. “Only once in my life, only once and only to you, I admitted that I felt guilty of the Gisbornes’ plight and that I had hated Guy for causing my father’s death, but that I still felt guilty.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “Once I told Much that I felt guilty, but I didn’t tell him all my thoughts about Gisborne.” He sighed. “You were the first person whom I trusted so much that I told you about all my fears and insecurities.”

“I treasured your candidness and sincerity, Robin.” The lion chuckled. “It was when I understood how honest and noble-hearted you are, Robin.”

Robin looked both hurt and desperate. “Milord, I told you the truth, but you did nothing to ease my conscience. You did nothing and only told me that I wasn’t guilty, even in spite of the fact that you knew that the situation troubled me and despite the knowledge that Gisborne is your half-brother…”

“I told you that you were not guilty of what happened to the Gisbornes,” Richard parried.

“You knew the truth,” Robin shot back.

“Yes.”

The leashed anger radiating from him, Robin cast an accusing glance at the lion. “My actions on the night of the fire were dishonorable, and I regretted them for so long. I could have helped Gisborne.”

Richard despised Guy and considered the Gisbornes the only reason for so many troubles he had to solve to save Robin. “I don’t care for Guy of Gisborne, especially after he tried to kill me in Acre in that raid when he also wounded you from the back, cunningly and cowardly, not like a man and a knight,” he replied coldly. “But I deeply care for you, Robin, and you know that.”

“If you care for me so much, then why didn’t you tell me the truth earlier?” Robin interjected, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Richard gave Robin a reproachful glare, but decided against doing a reprimand. “I had no right to tell you the truth, and I did that today only because you learnt everything from your father’s diary.”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier, sire? I had a right to know!” Robin demanded with an edge to his voice, anger simmering in his blood, his eyes as hard and unyielding as steel.

“Our mother, Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, is the only person who had a right to tell you the truth. She had an affair with your father,” Richard responded calmly, neglecting to acknowledge Robin’s outburst. “And she didn’t give me that right. I had to keep silent, until today’s events.”

The king’s favorite ran an agitated hand through his hair. “She didn’t want me to know, did she?”

“Yes, she didn’t want that.”

“Why?”

“She wanted to protect you from sufferings. Telling you the truth meant hurting you, and she didn’t want that; I didn’t wish to bring any harm to your heart if we could have avoided that.”

“You think that it is better to live a life of lies, sire?”

“I don’t think so; but some things are better to remain unsaid, at least for some time.”

“For some time!” Robin exclaimed, growing angrier. “I can understand why you kept everything in secret while King Henry was alive, but not now, not after his death. Even if it was too late to change something for Guy and his sister, I think that I deserved to know the truth about my birth before the Crusade, when the old king was dead and you ascended the throne.”

“It wasn’t my right to tell you the truth,” Richard reiterated, obviously irritated.

“You should have told me the truth,” Robin insisted. His gaze turned sharper and accusing.

The king threw Robin a dark look. “I owed you nothing more than I had done for you. And I also… didn’t want you to learn the truth.” He released a sigh of frustration. “I always fought with my brothers for power. We often were at war and entered into opposite alliances to defeat each other.”

“You feared that I would betray you, like your other brothers,” Robin surmised.

There was a long oppressive silence as they stared at each other. Everything was quiet, only the footsteps sounding outside in the corridor. Moodily, Robin of Locksley looked at his liege, puzzlement and confusion apparent in his eyes. The King of England watched the inner struggle in Robin’s eyes, his half-brother, guessing how their conversation would end.

The king’s lips sighed. In spite of the unpleasantness of the moment, Richard didn’t feel so terrible since he had come to Robin. “You are right, Robin. Here, in Acre, I always wondered whether your loyalty to me would have been unconditional and your affection for me so deep if you knew the truth.”

Robin stared at him incredulously. “Sire, I don’t understand why you made me captain of the private guard if you feared that I would betray you.”

“I didn’t say that I feared that, but I considered such a grievous opportunity,” Richard said, his face turning vulnerable and then suddenly blank. “I didn’t think that you would betray me, but you have to agree that my family history demonstrates that brothers not only betray but also try to kill each other.”

“I am appalled with a simple thought that a man may wish his brother dead.”

“You are different from my other brothers, Robin.”

“And that’s why you promoted me, milord?”

The lion sighed. “Yes. I didn’t think that you could ever try to kill your own brother. Additionally, you also were the most competent man for this job.” Another sigh followed. “I could make Robert captain of the private guard, and he was your only rival for this position.” He inhaled and exhaled audibly. “But I wanted to keep you closer to myself. Thus, I appointed Robert captain of the second guard and promoted you to your current position.”

“I see.”

“I deeply cared for you for many years. Over time, I grew to love you very much, Robin.”

Robin’s face softened at the king’s words. Then, angry with himself for his brief lapse and reminding himself that he had been friends with the king for a long time, he spoke gently. “I have always loved you and valued our friendship, sire, and now I value it even more.” He held his breath before he permitted a deep intake of air inside his lungs. “I swear on my life, upon all that I hold dear, that I will never betray you. Not earlier and not now and not ever.”

Richard smiled kindly. “I am glad to hear that; but you don’t need to swear.”

“And what are you planning to do with Guy of Gisborne, milord?”

“We will capture this man. He will be executed as a high traitor,” the monarch responded dispassionately.

Robin stared at the lion in disbelief. “You cannot be serious.”

King Richard gave Robin a long look. “I am very serious, Robin,” he said in a metallic voice. “Guy of Gisborne must pay for high treason. He will be hanged, drawn, and quartered.”

Robin turned pale, his hands were shaking. “No.”

Richard nodded. “Yes.”

Robin stared at Richard in sheer horror. He lowered his head. His throat turned dry. His heart was beating faster and faster. He let a long silence reign. He couldn’t speak. Numbness overcame him.

§§§

Robin pressed a hand on his chest, right on his heart. His arms embraced himself and tightened around his chest. He swallowed painfully, aware of the sting of tears in his eyes. Then he swallowed hard again and took a deep, deep breath, the storm of fierce emotion flooding through him. He was shocked with the king’s statement about Guy of Gisborne’s prospective fate.

“My liege, you cannot order to kill Guy! You cannot execute your own half-brother!” Robin protested passionately. “You won’t kill Prince John for his desire to kill you and you won’t kill Guy! It is an act of blasphemy to execute your own brother!”

“Guy of Gisborne is a high traitor and he will be executed,” the king reiterated. “John is another case.”

“Why is John another case? Because he is legitimate and we are bastards?”

Richard looked aggravated. “Holy Mother of God, Robin! Did I ever care that you were born by my mother after her affair? I never cared about that! But Guy of Gisborne’s case is different…” His face changed into white fury. “Gisborne tried to kill both you and me. He conspired with the Black Knights to assassinate me and he already attempted regicide once. And he will pay for his crimes.”

Robin climbed to his feet, staring at the king with challenge. “I beg you to reconsider your decision, my liege.” He shook his head. “Not now when I know the truth. I have to make up for the wrongs caused to Gisborne and his sister. Now I feel even guiltier than before I had read this damned diary.”

“Robin, don’t be naïve! We have to make him pay for treason, and he will be executed. His death is necessary for my safety and for your safety, too.”

Robin tossed his head, his eyes desperate. “No, you cannot kill Guy! Not for my safety and not even for your own safety!”

The lion rose to his feet, displeased. “And who will prevent me from doing that?”

Anger darkened Robin’s eyes that turned dark blue from pale blue, his mouth set in grim lines. “You sacrificed Gisborne for me! You didn’t care that he is your brother; you let him live in poverty and disgrace somewhere in Normandy. And now you want to execute him.”

“Let’s change the topic,” Richard admonished; he didn’t want to quarrel with Robin.

“No, we should speak about Gisborne! He is really guilty and I despise him with all my heart, but he is your half-brother, and that’s why you cannot execute Guy!”

The king seemed unfazed, but his patience was running thin. “That’s quite enough, Robin. You have forgotten whom you are talking to. I have heard enough of your little angry speech than I wanted to hear, and believe me, I have been very patient. I am sorry you harbor such sentiments towards Gisborne, but that changes nothing,” he said resolutely. “Gisborne will be executed on a charge of high treason. You may accept my decision or not; it is your problem.”

“No, no, no!” Robin shouted. His chin lifted rebelliously, a bolt of utter rage shooting through him; he tried to keep his roiling emotions in check, but he couldn’t. “Sire, please! You cannot execute Guy!”

“You are better to stop right now,” the lion warned.

Robin didn’t hear the warning, and instead he laughed cruelly. “You wish to execute your own brother because he tried to kill you but failed. But you let John live!”

“I am not pleased with John’s treacherous plots and constants attempts to kill or overthrow me, but I cannot execute him and I don’t want to take his life.  I don’t have legitimate children and he has to be my heir, like Arthur. How don’t you understand that, Robin?”

“I know that England will be torn apart if you don’t name your heir, sire.”

The lion rubbed his cheek. “At least here we are on the same page.”

“But you share blood with Guy of Gisborne, even if he is a traitor!”

“There can never be absolute peace, Robin. Lives are sacrificed for the greater good.”

“Even a life of your own half-brother?” Robin persisted.

“Yes, Robin.”

Robin didn’t understand the king at that moment. He felt blood run cold in his veins; he glanced at the lion, his eyes blazing with anger. “No, you cannot do that.” His tone was decisive.

The king fought with himself to restrain his temper as much as he could. “Robin, stop it! Gisborne is a traitor! He almost killed both of us!” He raised his voice. “I will not let you undermine my authority!”

“I am so disappointed in you, milord,” Robin declared boldly. “Now you are not the benevolent and gracious King Richard whom so many people love and respect and whom I have admired and loved for so many years. Now I see only the vengeful king, as cruel as Queen Eleanor who didn’t wish to see her own bastard son – me – after she had shipped me off her hands to my father.”

Richard frowned, beginning to look very angry, his lips thinning, his eyes narrowing and flaring up with a dangerous fire. His hands clenched into fists, and for one moment he thought of the pleasure it would give him to punch Robin for the stupid outburst of rage.

“You are an utter fool, and, worst of all, an ungrateful fool, Robin of Locksley.” The king’s voice was tense, indicating that he barely repressed himself from plunging into fury.

“I am not ungrateful! I am–”

“Ungrateful, spoiled, foolish, stubborn, impulsive, and hotheaded,” the king summed up in a hissing tone. “While I may forget your disrespect to me, I will never let you accuse our mother of being cruel and heartless. Today you crossed the line and broke the rules of appropriate behavior towards your king and your queen.”

Robin felt his knees tremble, and his vision became blurry as nervousness settled in the bottom of his stomach. Yet, rage was still working its way up to the surface. “Did the Queen Mother have to deal with the participants of this charade with my birth?”

Richard averted his eyes. “Some of them were silenced forever; I think they were poisoned. It must have been done for you because we had to make them silent. They couldn’t have been allowed to live because nobody could know the truth – it is an utterly important secret.”

“How many people?”

“Not very many, actually.”

“And what about the servants in Locksley? Didn’t they know that their lord’s daughter was stillborn?”

“I cannot answer because I don’t know these details,” Richard returned. “But servants could gossip, and I had to deal with some of them, particularly curious and interested in the truth; I mean the servants whom I met when I delivered you to Locksley after your release from your captivity organized by Bailiff Longthorn.”

“You killed for me…” Robin cursed under his breath, shocked by the ghoulish realization of how far they had to go to keep the secret safe and give Robin a life of a lord and an earl.

“I did. She did. For you, for your safety, and for your survival; for all of us.”

“Sire, those people were innocent.”

“Robin, stop it. I am bored with this conversation,” Richard said, his face evolving into harshness, his voice metallic. “If you again ask me to spare Gisborne’s life and if you do something to let him escape, I will have to use drastic measures. I will never let you undermine my authority.”

Robin was horrified, but his grief with the unexpected revelation, the guilt and agony which the bitter truth had awakened in his heart pushed him to the verge of madness. “And what will you do to me, my liege? Will you execute me like you plan to execute Guy of Gisborne? Or will you order to have me tied up to the poles in the desert and then end my life, like you killed around three thousand prisoners who were brutally slaughtered at your order in the massacre of Acre?”

The king shivered in rage, his eyes narrowing at Robin to slits, his fists clenched. He started pacing the chamber like a caged animal, and then stopped near a table. In one violent motion, he swept all things from there to the floor, candlesticks and glassware flying in all directions. Breathing heavily, his face almost ugly with rage, he struggled to bring his temper under control, but failed.

“You are a stupid boy! You are an ungrateful brat!” King Richard snarled. “If you think–” He broke off, took a deep breath, and snapped, “that I will tolerate such an insult and such humiliation and from you of all people, you are wrong. Goddamn your rage, Robin! Goddamn your self-pity and arrogance! Goddamn your foolishness and ungratefulness!” He marched to Robin and grabbed his shoulders, his large palms shaking the slimmer form to the core. “I will not command to arrest you only because you are my friend and half-brother and because I owe you too much for saving my life so many times.”

“And because I am Melisende’s husband,” Robin said with an immovable firmness.

Richard shot his favorite a contemptuous look. “You are even more foolish than I thought. Or are you too much affected by the truth that you lost your ability to think rationally?” He shook him furiously. “It was our mother’s idea to give you Melisende’s hand in a marriage in order to protect you from John and make your life safer by tying you to the Plantagenet family.”

“I didn’t need that. I would–”

“Robin, for Heaven’s sake, you must think a little before you speak! You needed this marriage for yourself, for your own protection, after your open rebellion against John in England!”

“I… I…” Robin felt as if he were in a thick mist. Confusion crept into his brain, and emotions were churning inside him. He was unable to define these emotions, but they made him want to shout out loud and tell the world how shocked he was; yet, no words came out.

With his mouth curving in a painful grimace, his forehead marred with a frown, the king shook Robin again, violently and without remorse. “I will never allow you to insult our mother, even if you hate her and hate me for keeping the truth from you and for killing some people to assure your safety.” His gaze pierced Robin’s face to the core. “She sacrificed too much for you, and you don’t deserve it.”

“Sacrificed?” Robin looked stupefied.

Richard shook the younger man again. “Yes.” He drew away slightly. “I know for sure that many years ago, before she was imprisoned, she had feared to meet you, a small child, because she hadn’t wanted to feel any emotional attachment to you. But she failed because she has always loved you from a distance. She has always tried to protect you, with an invisible hand and through me.”

“I don’t know who I am,” Robin babbled, his expression lost and pitiful. “I no longer have a mother. I am not the Earl of Huntingdon. I am not Robin Hood: he died in Sherwood when Marian married Gisborne. I cannot be the Earl of Huntingdon because… I am a bastard.”

“You are the Earl of Huntingdon. You are your father’s son, and you have a right for the title.”

Robin shook his head. “No, no, I don’t.”

“You are the Earl of Huntingdon, and nobody will ever say otherwise. We took care of that.”

“I have no doubt that you did that,” the young captain snapped spitefully.

“Spare me your hateful remarks, you fool!” The king shook Robin violently, so violently that Robin thought that his lithe form would be split in halves.

“I… I… didn’t mean to be so harsh,” Robin defended himself.

“And yet, you are not only mean, but almost insane,” the king reproached as he stepped aside.

“It is not easy, sire.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you,” Robin mumbled under his breath.

Richard laughed quietly. “You are so much like our mother, Queen Eleanor,” he stated emphatically, the corners of his mouth quirking in a slight smile. “You cannot imagine how much you took after her, not in appearance but in character.”

“Is this why you always can predict my actions in advance?”

“Partly because you are similar to her and mainly because I know you too well,” Richard answered with a small smile, but his tone was tense. “You possess our mother’s impulsiveness changing into coolness in a matter of seconds, her hot and rebellious nature, her poetic and romantic sentimentalism, and her iron will. You are spirited and stubborn like she and I are. You are cruel in rage and often ignorant of those whom you love. And there are many features from your Poitevin roots in your character.”

“Which features?”

“Robin, don’t disappoint me! You are usually so clever and so quick-witted.” The king’s voice sounded lighter. “You always have fun as you call it. You thrive in drama and theatrical performances, which is a rare thing for conservative Saxon noblemen who don’t understand and appreciate your mischievous nature. Your love for theatrics makes you stand out among all English nobles.” He regarded Robin with respect. “I remember how much interested you were in Aquitanian culture and in the art of troubadours when you were at court in Poitiers. You speak perfect Occitan, unlike the majority of other English lords and ladies.”

Robin ran his hand through his hair. “Oh, milord.”

“What, my little bird? You usually have so much to say on any subject; don’t be shy and silent now.” The king laughed; his tone was mocking. “Or do you fear that the lion can eat his little bird?”

Robin smiled slightly. “You will choke with my bones, sire. I am not a delicious Aquitanian food you like so much.”

Richard scoffed. “You are better than any kind of delicious food, Robin, especially your sweet tongue.”

“Yeah, I know I am not easily embarrassed.”

“I know you are not – right now you are insolent.”

“I am sorry.”

The king shook his head. “No, you are not sorry. I always know when you are lying to me.”

Robin looked shamefaced. “You are right, sire. But I am still sorry.” In reality, he was close to tears.

“I just know you too well, Robin. Now speak.”

“Now I see so many things clearly.”

“Certainly, you do because you know the truth.”

“Oh,” Robin sighed tiredly.

The lion laughed. “There are also many similarities between you and me, but I am more similar to our mother.” He smiled with odd tenderness. “You are more high-minded, more generous and kinder than our mother and I could ever be; these qualities always attracted me to you.”

“Perhaps.”

The king took a step forward, closer to Robin and put his large palms on his captain’s shoulders. “Robin, you have to take a hold of yourself.” He shook Robin slightly as if he were trying to knock sense into the other man. “Stop pitying yourself and don’t be angry with yourself, Robin.” He raised his voice. “Self-pity and blind anger don’t suit you well.”

Robin flinched at the king’s words. There was an uncomfortable feeling in the middle of his chest, and he was conscious of a sudden desire to burst into tears of rage and shame. He was confused with the truth. He felt abandoned and betrayed by his true mother, though he had no real reason to feel either, for it appeared that the queen was very loyal to him from shadows. His chest expanded as his heart squeezed with pain, as if a sharp blade had lacerated his heart. Robin’s already guilty conscience heavy with the shame of what he said about Queen Eleanor and of his disrespectful behavior towards Richard.

A pang of guilt knifed through Robin. “Forgive me, milord,” he whispered, looking at the carpet; his eyes filled with hot tears. “It is only my fault that I disappointed and infuriated you.”

King Richard only shook his head, disapprovingly looking at Robin, his hands on Robin's shoulders; Robin hung his head in shame.

Robin’s heart wept, and he opened his mouth to say something else, frantic, hasty words hovering on his lips, but no sound came forth. Instead, Robin gave a sob; tears sprang into his eyes, and he closed his eyes.

Suddenly, Robin felt a pair of tender, strong arms embracing him and holding him tightly to someone’s broad chest. He vaguely realized that the king hugged him, tenderly and protectively, giving him as much comfort as he could offer to a grown-up man. Robin instinctively wrapped his arms around Richard’s back, clinging to the body of his liege as he sobbed his grief into the king’s doublet.

“Shhh,” the king breathed against Robin’s hair. He placed his head on the nape of his half-brother’s head, for he was several inches taller than Robin; then he began stroking the thick hair of wheat color. “You are shocked now, but you will get over that.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.” Robin felt tears running openly down both his cheeks; he was unable to fight down the panic and grief, which the truth had caused him.

“Oh, Robin! You became a good and strong man, but you are still so innocent.” The lion’s hand brushed Robin’s back before sliding up to Robin’s hair which it began to stroke. “You may be such a child.”

An amazed Robin asked, “Really?”

“Undoubtedly.” The king smiled.

“Oh.” Robin trembled in the king’s embrace.

The king murmured, “Such a child that I even cannot be angry with you after your recent spectacle. Truth be told, I don’t want you to lose the innocence of your heart and mind because it makes you so human and so different from others.”

“I will never betray you. I swear that I will never betray you,” Robin blurted out in trepidation, both amazed and pleased that the king was so compassionate and considerate towards him.

Richard hugged Robin tighter, and they froze in a warm, affectionate embrace. “You will be fine, Robin. I understand that you are confused and shocked. The truth injured your tender heart, which is what we have always feared. Now, when you know the truth, you should act like a mature, grown-up person.”

“How, then?”

“No anger. No bitterness. No hatred. No childish and angry outbursts. No ungratefulness. Only acceptance of the truth, and then resignation,” the lion explained, his arms pulling his younger favorite and brother even tighter to him. “Don’t be too much upset. Don’t dwell on the past. You shouldn’t blame us because we only tried to protect you.”

Robin glanced up at the king, tears glittering in his eyes, making them crystalline; his face was a picture of despair and guilt. “I am so sorry, milord.”

The Lionheart smiled faintly. “Accepted.” Then he drew back and took a step back.

“Thank you,” Robin said humbly.

The king patted Robin’s shoulder. “For what?”

“For being honest with me. For telling me the truth. For protecting me for so many years.”

The lion waved his head. “That is not very much to do for you.”

“I shouldn’t have been so disrespectful,” Robin said hollowly. “I know that I was wrong.”

“You were wrong,” the king agreed, narrowing his eyes at Robin. “And I want you to remember that this is the first and the last time when I forgive you for your outrageous and disrespectful behavior towards our mother, the queen, and me.” His voice sounded metallic. “If you let yourself act in the same manner again, you will have to suffer severe consequences, Robin.”

Robin swallowed hard; he lowered his head in dismay and fear. “I will remember that, sire.”

“I trust you will.”

Robin didn’t dare look at the king. “Thank you.”

“Robin, look at me,” Richard addressed him meaningfully, his voice suddenly soft.

Only now Robin gazed at his liege. “Yes?”

“No one must know the truth. It must be kept in secret. This is necessary for your own life and for protecting our mother’s reputation, not speaking about political stability in the Angevin Empire. You must never – never ever – share this information with someone else. This is too dangerous and risky.”

Robin gave a nod. “I understand that very well. Nobody will ever learn something from me.” There was disappointment mingled with relief across his face, and then he laughed with a hollow laugh.

“If your temper cools off, you will realize that the truth is not bad at all.”

“I don’t know…”

“You are too confused now. You will get over that.”

“I hope so,” Robin said dubiously.

“You will, I know.”

“I will try.”

The lion gave a tender smile. “You should go to your wife; she must be waiting for you. We will talk tomorrow when your head is clearer and when you are well rested. Now leave.”

Robin bowed to the king and hastily retreated to the door. He paused near the door, hesitating; he turned around and looked at the king, who smiled and nodded at him. Then Robin bowed again and walked out of the room, signaling his permission to leave. As he walked to his bedroom, where Melisende was waiting for him, he swore that he would do everything in his power to change Richard’s opinion about Guy’s execution; at least he had to try again.

King Richard sighed heavily; he was relieved that the conversation with Robin was over. It was a long and difficult conversation, but the lion was unusually relieved that now Robin knew everything, although he was still angry that Robin insisted to spare Guy’s life; he had already decided to execute Guy, whatever Robin would tell him, even if he had to quarrel with the younger man.

The king crouched and took Malcolm of Locksley’s diary in his hands. It was clear that Robin would learn the truth about his father’s survival in the fire sooner or later, and Richard dreaded the moment of the final revelation, fearing to bring more bitterness and confusion into Robin’s life. Richard didn’t wish to be a person who would open the painful truth to Robin, breaking his half-brother’s heart again.

The king planned to read Malcolm’s diary tonight; he was really interested to learn more about the man who was presumed to be dead for so long. Then Richard intended to destroy the diary as they didn’t need to have written proof of Robin’s true parentage. Malcolm of Locksley was a complete idiot as he hadn’t destroyed such an important piece of evidence before he had gone into hiding, the lion thought. He thanked God that nobody had found the diary in the jewelry box for so many years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Robin and his friends achieve piece in the Holy Land, which is a great victory for King Richard and every Crusader who fought the bloody and pointless war for the liberation of Jerusalem for so many years. The terms and conditions of the peace treaty with Saladin mentioned in this story are historically correct: pilgrims were given a safe passage to Jerusalem only if they could present King Richard’s banner and only for three years, and the French were given no privileges despite rather significant role of some French generals, like Hugh de Burgundy, in the capture of Acre.
> 
> In real history, King Richard didn’t meet Saladin in person: the king’s representatives, including Sir Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester, and Sir Henry de Champagne, Count de Champagne and King of Jerusalem, negotiated the terms of the peace treaty and signed the treaty with Saladin’s representatives. Of course, I included Robin and Carter into the king’s party: Robin, the peace lover and the king’s savior, has to bring long-awaited peace into the Holy Land, while Carter is positioned as one of the king’s favorites. According to my rigorous research, Saladin’s representatives included Saladin’s eldest surviving son Prince Al-Afdal and several other sheikhs, but I also brought into the picture Prince Malik as canonical character, for the man has a connection to Robin.
> 
> Finally, the sensational event happened and the dark secrets of the past begin to unveil (remember the name of this story). Now Robin of Locksley knows the truth about his true lineage! As I promised, this chapter is utterly important for Robin and King Richard because they unexpectedly have to face each other in an entirely new light – not only as a King and his subject, as friends and as a mentor and his protégé, but also as close relatives in accordance with the captivating plot I invented.
> 
> Now all the questions about Robin’s true parentage and how he could be the queen’s golden boy are finally answered: Robin finds all the answers in Malcolm’s secret diary, and later Richard tells Robin many facts and they also discuss them. If you are still confused with something, then I recommend that you go to the author’s notes of chapter 10 in part 1 of this long epic, for you can find there a detailed and easily readable summary of the back story for Robin and Guy. I often write explanations or references to historical events in author’s notes for your better understanding or if I want remind you of something important which you could have forgotten.
> 
> Do you have any thoughts about Malcolm? He is certainly an impudent, nasty, and hypocritical man, right? Robin is a much better man than his father has ever been!
> 
> I do really feel for Robin. It was surely a very emotional and overdramatic moment for Robin. Robin is shocked, confused, frustrated, astonished, angry, and furious, for it is not easy for him to accept the truth about the fact that his life was full of life and illusions. Robin feels betrayed, and deceived, and offended, but I don’t see how he can be angry with King Richard in the situation when Queen Eleanor and Richard protected him for so many years and saved his life. So Robin remembers the only real feeling he has among his conflicting emotions – it is his love for King Richard. 
> 
> The shocking revelations change everything in Robin’s life and in Guy’s life, too, and you will see what I mean in the next chapters. Robin knows the truth about Guy – he knows that Guy is King Richard’s half-brother on paternal side; Robin knows about Richard’s large contribution to Guy’s unhappiness. Robin also learns that Malcolm had an affair with Ghislaine and that she gave birth to Archer. Of course, Robin is acting completely in character: he is noble and he doesn’t want to let the king execute his own half-brother even if Guy is guilty and Robin loathes him. In real history, King Richard was a cruel and vengeful man, as well as a very practical man, and Richard’s desire to execute Guy for his crimes and high treason despite Robin’s pleas comes across as a natural thing for Richard.
> 
> But I ask you not to worry, my dear readers and devoted fans of Guy. I will ease your fears right now: Guy won’t be executed at the king’s order, but something else – something very serious – will happen. 
> 
> It was a very difficult chapter to write, one of the most difficult in part 2 of Quintessence. It was particularly difficult to write about Robin’s reaction to the great revelation, and I had to re-write it several times. Robin even has a little scandal with the king, but they finally reconcile and have a sweet moment when Robin cries in the king’s embrace; I wanted to show vulnerability and emotionality in Robin, who is always guarding his emotions so tightly and wears his masks of a cheeky rogue.


	5. The Shores of Acre

**Chapter 5**

**The Shores of Acre**

All was quiet in the Citadel of Acre; only the guards were going about their daily tasks as they patrolled the castle. Taking a deep, calming breath, Robin opened the door of his bedchamber that he shared with Melisende. As there was no light in the room, it seemed that nobody was inside. Groping through the darkness, he strode towards the bed. As he seated himself on the bed, he felt a hand on his arm.

“Don’t be afraid, Robin. It is me,” Melisende purred, her hand squeezing his arm. “Where have you been? I have been waiting for you for more than an hour!”

“I was… with… Richard…” Robin stuttered, not knowing how to refer to the king who _was his sovereign, friend, and half-brother_.

Melisende chuckled. “That’s why you are so excited and agitated?” Like a kitten, she rubbed her cheek against his chest. “Now I am exceedingly jealous of you to Richard. Like you, I am utterly loyal to him, and I would die for him, but I may become jealous if he takes you away from me for so long.”

An amused Robin laughed. “Are really so jealous of me to our beloved king?”

“Just a little, not very much.” Her playful tone betrayed that she was jesting.

“Really?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “I would do everything for Richard. I would die for him.”

Robin cupped her face and kissed her warmly. “And you are a darling! I am the most fortunate man to have you as my wife, for you understand my loyalty to Richard.”

Melisende and Robin both had the ultimate, unconditional, and unwavering loyalty to King Richard and England. They both loved Richard and viewed him not as the great warrior and powerful King of England, not as a symbol of bravery and cruelty, but as a man, with his strengths and weaknesses.

She delicately traced the stubble on his jaw and then his lower lip, sending a lance of heat through his veins. “I will never make you choose between your duty and me. That would not be right.”

Robin gasped in amazement, thinking that the king had probably told his cousin something about his two unfortunate betrothals to Marian. “Thank you for that,” he whispered.

Robin bent his head and kissed Melisende. At the feel of her soft lips beneath his, the sensation of her slender body pressed against his, her desire for him turned more powerful and intense at the thought that she would never make him choose between Richard and her; now, when he knew the truth of his birth, Robin had no choice at all because he would sacrifice everything for his half-brother’s life and throne.

He deepened the kiss, and his hands started unlacing her nightgown while her fingers were unlacing his trousers. As they removed their clothing, she flung herself headlong into his arms, and he kissed her hungrily, his tongue seeking entrance into the warmth of her mouth, and she parted her lips to give him what he sought. His body was on fire, yearning for his wife’s touch and for claiming her as his, his loins aching and demanding release from increasingly lascivious sensations that ripped through his core.

Robin lifted her and with something between a growl and a groan began to sink slowly into her. They joined together, and he thought of nothing except for the slick heat of her body and the exquisite softness of her flesh as he drove himself into her deeper and deeper. He heard her soft cries of pleasure and felt the tremors of pleasure racing through her body. Groaning aloud, Robin thrust into her with a force that made her gasp with every downward thrust, reveling in the sensations that cascaded through him. When a white mist of fulfillment exploded in their heads, and they found a pure ecstasy.

Robin rolled off of Melisende and gathered her into his arms, holding her tight to his chest. Melisende sighed in contentment, finding herself in the circle of his strong arms. Robin sighed with satisfaction, suddenly becoming aware of a blend of possession and innate tenderness which he felt for her.

“At least I have you,” Robin murmured, his voice hoarse with vestiges of passion.

Melisende raised a quizzical brow. “What do you mean?”

His eyes fluttered shut. “My life is becoming very strange. I don’t know who I am.”

“Are you alright, Robin?” she asked, her voice concerned.

Robin opened his eyes and hugged her tighter and then kissed the top of her head. The moon appeared from behind the dark cloud, and in a beam of the moonlight they could see each other quite well.

Something enigmatic sparked the depths of his pale blue eyes. “Many things happened. My life changed. We have been together for only three months, but I can say that now you are _my only constant in this life_ ," he murmured. “Everything else changes too fast to accept it and not to doubt my own sanity.”

"Why are you saying this?” Melisende’s hands were stroking his bare chest.

“If you want to know, then ask Richard. If he thinks that you can know the truth, then so be it,” he responded evenly, pulling the silken covers upward their tangled bodies.

Melisende was confused. “Richard?”

Robin began to kiss her neck. “Yes, Richard.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he whispered. “I think there are more pleasant things to do, right?”

She smiled at him enticingly. “Yes, there are.”

"Beautiful!" he murmured as he buried his face in her hair.

“I didn’t know,” she said softly.

“What?” He raised his head and looked at her, then kissed her cheek.

“I didn’t know that you are such a wonderful man when you caught my eye on Cyprus.”

He skimmed his fingers through her hair. “Why are you saying that?”

“It is true, Robin. You knew that I was happy to meet you in the moonlit garden, didn’t you?”

He grinned smugly. “Of course, I did.”

“I guess this marriage is better than you probably planned.”

“Definitely,” he confirmed.

Melisende ran a caressing finger down his cheek. “Robin, I didn’t want to love you. I resisted with all my being, but I was powerless… It is not like it was with Leicester…” Her voice came to a halt.

He cringed at her words. “Forgive me,” he whispered, his eyes moving over her slender form.

“There is nothing to forgive, Robin.” She threaded her ﬁngers through his sandy hair and then lavished a few passionate kisses on his neck. “It is alright that you don’t love me.”

“It is wrong,” Robin spoke quietly as his hands framed her face, and he brushed his lips against hers.

Melisende heaved a sigh. “Wrong?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“I know that you planned to marry another woman – Lady Marian,” she uttered tonelessly. 

His body tensed, but he didn’t pull away from her. “Did Richard tell you something?”

“Richard said nothing, and I didn’t ask him anything. But Robert de Beaumont told me everything.”

“Well, I suspected that Robert would inform you about my past.” He traced her lips with his fingers, feeling the corners of her mouth lift slightly.

Melisende smiled softly and placed her palm onto his cheek. “Sometimes you remind me of a child.”

“You are not the first one who says that.” He noticed that his memories of Marian and their past were no longer as painful as before. Did that mean that the old wound on his heart was slowly healing?

“And not the last one.” She smiled. “Do you really think that Robert can somehow hurt you?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Robert told me the truth about your two engagements to this lady because he is worried about you. He wants you to be happy, and, thus, he told me the truth about her betrayal of your love.”

“I know, Melisende.” He sighed. “I am very grateful to Robert for his care, although I was also going to tell you everything. And I myself will also do that soon.”

“As you wish, Robin. I will listen to your story whenever you wish.”

“Thank you.”

Gazing into his eyes, Melisende vowed, “Robin, I swear that I will never betray you.”

He smiled, and the dimples on his cheeks deepened. “I believe you.”

She fluttered her long eyelashes up and down. “Do you love Lady Marian?”

“Half of my heart will always love Marian,” Robin said with resignation, sighing and looking away. “But the other half died after her wedding to Gisborne.” He cupped her chin, looking into her eyes. “And this part of my heart is no longer as frozen. I feel content, and I want to live; it is so only thanks to you, Melisende.”

She smiled tentatively as if she expected him to laugh at her. “Robin, I love you with all my heart.”

“And I am very fond of you. I think I am falling for you,” he confessed.

“Robin,” she whispered, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

Robin closed his eyes and pressed Melisende closer to himself. She was so close, and he thought that it was wonderful to have her in his arms. Melisende was his wife in the eyes of the law and God, and nothing in the world could change that; nothing, excluding death. He was finally moving on, although he knew that a part of him would be forever occupied by his love and devotion to Marian and to the old days of his life.

“You are amazing, Melisende. I am a lucky man that I am your husband,” he averred thickly.

“I am lucky to have you as my husband, Robin. I will be always grateful for every moment we spend together by the Lord; I will be thanking God for having you for the rest of my life.”

Leaning over her on one elbow, he looked at her, his lashes half-closed and his mouth curved into a tender smile. “As long as you are with me, sweetheart, I don’t give a damn what mischief you and I will be involved in. If we like something, we will just do it.”

Her eyes sparkled knavishly. “What exactly do you want, Robin Hood?”

A sensual curve to his full lower lip, Robin laughed huskily. “Yeah, I wouldn’t force you to do any kind of mischief, but I have enough confidence in my own ability to make you welcome… something new.”

“I don’t mind.” A wicked gleam appeared in her violet eyes.

He kissed her ardently, each greedy lap of his tongue against hers evoking passion in them. Giddy with emotions flooding her body, Melisende welcomed his liberties as he caressed her body in a frank fashion, shuddering as marvelous and powerful sensations were wreaking havoc within her. Nuzzling her hair and breathing in the scent of lavender and rose water, Robin wished that they could stay like that forever as he feasted on her willing flesh. Robin lifted her above him and penetrated into her body, and she accepted him with a merry laugh. He dissolved all his pain in the violent and passionate lovemaking with his wife, in the blatant possession of her, enjoying her body like he would have enjoyed sweet ambrosia.

He raised his head and looked at the undraped window. The pale light of dawn clothed the city in a bluish mist, and the dark clouds were shuffling in the sky. Somewhere far away, on the horizon, the dark canvas was tinged with the rosy color of a sunrise, but lightning bolts were flashing in the distance.

Despite the shocking revelations about his past and his true origins, Robin was relieved that he had learned the truth, even though he disliked it. His marital happiness, unexpected and pleasant, made the acceptance of the truth easier. Yet, there was a feeling of presentiment and fear in him that something in his life would go awfully wrong. He struggled to expel fear and confusion from his mind, but he failed.

As soon as he fell asleep, he was gripped by powerful nightmares, tossing his head on the pillow, his lips twitching, as if he were going to call to someone who could save him from cruel demons devouring him from the inside out. The visions of the battlefield of Acre were replaced with the Saracen attack when Guy had stabbed him from the back; this time, the same nightmare was more ferocious and somehow special. In his dream, the pain from the penetration of the cold steel in his flesh was so real and so sharp that Robin awoke in a cold sweat, his heart thundering in his chest, his hot blood running faster in his veins.

Robin lay still, trying to calm his breathing and heartbeat, waves of terror running through him one after another. In today’s dream about the Saracen attack, he felt death closer to him than ever before. Stillness reigned in the room, breached by his labored breathing, as well as by the quiet twittering of birds in the garden and by the faint murmur of the sea. He pulled himself into a sitting position and stared into the darkness, his heart thundering so violently that it hurt his chest. Robin was horrified in the wake of his nightmare, trying to persuade himself that this dream was only a product of his imagination.

Melisende also awoke. She shifted on the bed closer to Robin and eyed him with concern. “Robin, what happened?” She wrapped her arm around his back.

“I am fine.” It was impossible to endure the intensity of the emotion of such magnitude, and his voice was quiet and trembling with the force of that emotion. “I am fine,” he reiterated.

“Did you have a nightmare?” She was stroking his sandy-colored hair.

“Yes, I did.” He inhaled shakily and held his breath for longer than necessary. The memory of the white-hot pain slashing through him was all too familiar, and he closed his eyes.

“It is over, my love,” Melisende stated softly.

Robin felt his heartbeat go up another notch. “In my dream, I was wounded in the Saracen attack,” he supplied in a shaking voice. “I often dream of that night.”

Melisende caressed the stubble of his beard. “Robin, you are alive! You will be fine!” She took his hand in hers. “Don’t think about death when you are so young and have a promising future ahead!”

Robin opened his eyes and, after a moment’s silence, said, “I am so happy that I am not alone. I need your wisdom and, perhaps, even your protection… from myself, from the darkness that lives in my heart.” He squeezed her hand as if it were some sort of comfort to him. “Don’t leave me,” he entreated.

The moon shone down on Melisende’s face, and her violet eyes burned with emotion. “I will be with you as long as I live, Robin. I will never abandon you if you want to be with me!”

“Your great qualities and your wise mind have given me more comfort than your beautiful face or your gorgeous body.” He smiled vaguely. “I have a deep affection for you!”

“By Christ and by any god, Robin of Locksley, I swear I love you with all my heart.” Her avowal was murmured with tenderness and devotion. “Forever, Robin Hood.” And he thought that she meant it.

“I want to love you so much,” he whispered.

Melisende arched against him, her full breasts grazing his chest, the strands of her long red-gold hair tickling his skin. “Then love me, my beloved hero of the woods.”

Robin murmured sensitively, “I am yours, truly, irrevocably forever, _until my death_.” He ran his hand up her back to gently grasp a few thick strands of her hair.

Robin kissed her so ardently, so fully, and so fiercely that Melisende truly believed her body would burst into flames. She could feel their hearts beating in unison for one spellbinding moment. When he ended the kiss, they stared into each other’s eyes, both of them breathless. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers, then pulling her close, snaked his arm around her waist. He buried his head in her shoulder and felt her hand stroking the hair on the nape of his head affectionately.

“Nightmares will stop troubling you soon,” Melisende crooned.

“Don’t leave me!” Robin felt all of his worldly burdens slip away with the soothing stroke of her hand.

“I won’t leave you,” his wife’s melodic voice promised. “You are not alone.”

Robin drew back, gazed into her eyes, and smiled, and Melisende smiled back at him. The voice in the back of his head whispered to him that they would grasp the mysteries of doom and death together. He recognized that it was his own soul whispering to him that evil spirits would crawl into his life, and that enveloped him in a pall of some unknown foreboding. Would they ever find peace, he wanted to know?

Melisende wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed him on the mouth with the soul-stirring passion that took her away from everything in the world but Robin. Her heart was crying out that maybe, just maybe, Robin would finally and truly be hers! If only she could conquer his heart, she mused; if only he forgot the woman who had broken his heart and had caused him so much pain. If only he could give his soul to her and only to her, Melisende would live in this joy for the rest of her life.

§§§

The wind intensified and the rainless storm raged, an omen of bad things as sailors say. Guy of Gisborne was on the deck, leaning out over the rail, peering down into the waters below. He stood with his legs spread, his knees flexing against the erratic, unpredictable movements of the ship’s deck, and his right elbow hooked around the rope that stretched up like an iron bar into the mass of rigging above his head.

“It is dangerous to stay here, Sir Guy of Gisborne,” Guy heard the voice speak behind him.

Guy turned and looked at Prince John’s assassin. “What are you doing here?”

Archer grinned. “If I were you, I would go to your cabin.”

“Why should I?” Guy looked up at the black canvas that seemed to mingle with the dark stormy sea.

“The beautiful Lady Marian is alone,” Archer emphasized.

Guy glanced back at the younger man with narrowed eyes. “What do you want from my wife?”

“Absolutely nothing. Many women are very anxious and probably even frightened in such storms.”

“The storm is indeed bad.”

“It will be worse after midnight,” Archer said in a voice of experience. “Storms in the Mediterranean Sea can be much more violent than even the storm we will see tonight. Even in the summer, there can be quite violent storms in these waters. In this case, our ship might be wrecked, and we might die. Another option is that our ship could be driven in a wrong direction, dependent on the whims and ferocity of the wind.”

Gisborne looked curious. “You know so much about storms in the Mediterranean Sea.”

Archer smiled knowingly. “I do know many things about the sea waters in the East. I spent many years in the East, mainly in the Byzantine Empire and in Antioch.”

“You seem to have had many adventures,” Guy concluded, impressed.

Archer grunted deep in his chest, his gaze becoming reflective. “Once I traveled from Limassol to Constantinople. My ship was severely damaged by a violent autumn storm, and in a day after the storm we were attacked and sunk by corsairs. They didn’t want to sink us, of course: they wanted our cargo, but the vessel went down. I suspect that it might have foundered even without their attack, for it was badly holed.”

“But you survived.” Guy’s voice showed surprise. “How many died, then?”

Archer had the decency to look shamefaced for a moment before schooling his features into indifference. “I am ashamed to admit that I have no idea because I paid no attention to these things: I was too absorbed in my own problems to take note of what others were doing. But there were a lot of those who died that night.” He sighed. “I have always lived only for myself. Anyway, I was one out of only five survivors.”

“You were lucky.” Guy wanted to comment that he hated ships and storms, but he decided against expressing his opinion.

“Yes, I was really fortunate to survive that tempest.” Archer’s headshake was barely visible. Then he jumped to another topic. “It is not the first time when I am going to the Holy Land.”

The leather-clad man was bewildered. “Not the first time?”

Archer nodded. “I once was there because I traveled across the East.”

“You are a strange man, Master Archer. There is something that we don’t know about you.”

Archer averted his gaze. The bitter truth of Guy’s words was like a strike of a blade in his heart as soon as their gazes met. He was swept up into the storms raging in Guy's eyes, knowing he would have to pretend and lie in Guy’s face again, for he didn’t plan to tell Guy the truth about his birth.

“Memories tend to make me… somewhat… nostalgic,” Archer spluttered, grinning; then his expression turned serious, almost harsh. “I had many adventures and lived in poverty because my father placed me in an orphanage in several days after my birth.” He laughed bitterly. “Many years later, I suddenly learned the truth about my family.” He paused and sighed. “I was in the Byzantine Empire, in Constantinople, when… one old man revealed to me the secret of my birth. I learned that I have a grown-up half-brother who is several years older than me. My brother has always had everything while I have nothing.”

Guy regarded him with interest. “Are you a bastard of a nobleman?”

Archer stiffened. “Yes, I am a bastard of a nobleman and a noblewoman.” He let out a cynical laugh. “My half-brother, my father’s legitimate son, inherited everything – a title, many estates, and ample wealth.”

“And you want your brother dead?”

“I wanted him dead for a long, long time.” Archer sighed, looking into space. “But I am not so sure now.”

“Why?”

Archer emitted a sigh of regret or frustration that was like a melancholy that had settled into everyone’s mind with the onslaught of the storm. “I have heard many incredible things about him.”

“If you want to kill him, then you proceed with it,” Guy recommended.

Archer looked at him with cold disdain. “I am a rogue, a cheat, and a knave. I killed people if they wanted to take my life or if I defended someone else. I also murdered several people when I became a professional assassin, but only a few people; I cannot say that I am proud of what I did.”

Guy scowled ferociously. “Oh, no, please. You remind me of Robin Hood.”

“Really?” Archer grinned sheepishly.

“I had enough of Hood’s talk about his no-killing policy. I refuse to listen to this nonsense again.”

Archer raised a hand in protest. “I am not Robin Hood; I don’t want to be him.” He gave Guy a scornful glare. “Yet, taking a human life is not easy. It is not God's will regardless of the reason or man's law.”

Guy smirked and spoke in a spleenful voice, “Then you are a fool! How can you be an assassin if you cannot kill your enemies in cold blood like this weakling Hood? Why did you want the contract on the capture of Robin Hood if you value human life so highly?”

“I guess I am not as cruel and brutal as you are.”

Guy narrowed his eyes to slits. “You risk being killed here and now, assassin.”

Archer chuckled. “You may try, and I will show you my excellent swordplay that impressed Lord Walter Sheridan so much that he told me I am as good with a sword as Robin of Locksley.” He pointed at Guy. “And I have heard many legends about Robin Hood’s skills with a bow and a sword.”

Guy released an angry breath. “Hood is not the best swordsman in King Richard’s lands,” he growled.

“And neither are you, Gisborne,” Archer teased. “Sheridan told me that Sir Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester, is probably the best swordsman in Christendom, as well as King Richard himself. Sheridan said that Hood is outstanding with a sword, but that he is not the best.”

“I heard the same.”

“Oh, it is good that you agree with me. I guess you are not as arrogant and haughty as Robin Hood?”

“Definitely, not.”

Archer grinned impudently. “But you always kill more easily than Robin Hood?”

“Stop playing with me, assassin,” Guy said in a menacing voice, barely holding onto his temper.

“Oh, Gisborne, you have my warmest sympathies because you are so nervous and intemperate.” Archer laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But I don’t blame you for being so unhinged because your master is a madman who is dragging you to hell.” He shrugged. “Anyway, it is not my concern.”

“Shut up,” Guy hissed.

“I will be silent like a sleeping baby.” Archer flashed a sideways glance at Guy, grinning at him. “But if I don’t speak, your life will be dull and much less bright, Gisborne.”

Guy said nothing else, cognizant that Archer teased him on purpose – to make him angry and to see what he would do. Archer was an odd man, for he didn’t behave like a typical profit-looking assassin. There was also something familiar, for his cheeky grins and his pale blue eyes reminded Guy of Robin Hood.

Tenebrous clouds scurried across the inky sky beneath which the sea was erupting in all directions. In a few moments, the small ship was already enveloped by a non-transparent mist that was so thick that it appeared to blend into the sea. Soon the ship passed through a wall of fog only to encounter another.

Despite the blowing wind and the cold, Archer and Guy remained on the deck. The wind blew harder and harder, and the ship was moving in the middle of the howling storm. It still wasn’t raining.

“Gisborne,” Archer called. His mouth quirked in a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. “I know that you are also traveling to Acre for the second time. Prince John informed me that you had failed to kill the king after Robin Hood had stopped you at the very last moment.”

Guy was humiliated not only by this carefully worded insult but also by the reference to the fact that Prince John had shared the details of this story with Archer. “Be very careful with me, Master Archer.”

A snickering Archer inclined his head slightly. “Gisborne, I know that you are in the dire circumstances right now. Prince John told me why you want to kill Robin Hood. You must have been truly desperate to retake everything you lost when the Gisborne lands were amalgamated with the Locksley estates.”

Guy gritted his teeth, his face turning purple in black fury. The shadowy array of emotions that swept across his face in the charged silence that followed then could make any other man run away, but Archer wasn’t a coward. Archer met too many different men, ranging from dangerous pirates and low criminals to mighty lords and princes, and he wasn’t afraid of men like the sheriff and Guy.

Guy pulled himself together quickly. His eyes glittered at the prince’s assassin, ice blue and filled with a salient blend of anger and pain. “Prince John told you my story, didn’t he?”

Archer nodded an affirmative. “Gisborne, you were at court in London many times. You know that Prince John enjoys playing with people’s fates, and if he cannot do that at a particular time, he makes jest out of those people and mocks them. It is like a sport for him – to make jest out of someone and enjoy that.”

“I know,” Guy answered darkly.

Archer looked at Guy attentively. “Why do you endure so much humiliation from the sheriff? I would have killed him a long time ago if I were in your shoes.”

Guy scowled. “It is not your deal.”

“Don’t be offended, Gisborne. I asked out of mere curiosity,” Archer responded composedly. “Lord Vaisey must have invested considerable energy into ingratiating himself into the prince’s good graces. And it is well known at court that few courtiers like Vaisey. His fate is dependent only on the prince’s favor.”

Guy’s fists balled. “Leave me alone.”

Archer made a mocking bow. “I am leaving, Gisborne,” he said, sniggering. “Don’t worry. This storm will be worse, but it won’t kill us. There may be much more violent storms than this one.”

Archer left the deck, but his words about Vaisey echoed mockingly through Guy’s mind, underscoring the heart-wrenching truth that Vaisey’s future depended entirely on Prince John’s favor and on the prince’s whims as well. If King Richard survived, he would execute Vaisey and the Black Knights, and Guy would die together with his master. And no matter how much it hurt, Guy knew that it was the truth.

Guy looked into the dark expanse of the stormy sea, but he could see very little due to the mist. He was shocked that they had sailed in such a violent storm, in spite of the captain’s insistence that they wait in Limassol. Vaisey acted like a madman; he was totally obsessed with the desire to kill King Richard and to reap the fruits of their victory. Guy didn’t want to go to Acre, and he was filled with dread for his future.  For some reason, Guy feared to see Robin face-to-face, and he terrified of the outcome of the new regicide attempt. But the ship was moving towards the blood-soaked Eastern land, and Acre was somewhere ahead.

Through the waves crashing over the side of the ship, Guy caught a glimpse of the sailors clinging to the wheel and the decks, their backs bent against the raging wind. Someone shouted to him that he should go to the cabin and wait there. He made a quick perusal of himself and discovered that most of his leather jacket and trousers were soaked, but he had been so lost in thoughts that he hadn’t noticed that before. Chilled to the bone and not wishing to risk being swept overboard, Guy made up his mind to leave the deck.

However, instead of returning to his cabin, Guy decided to pay a visit to Isabella at first. He was slowly stalking through the damp, dark corridor, cursing the foul weather. As the ship swayed in the strong wind, Guy stumbled into the wooden wall and used it to regain his balance. He then made a step forward, opened the door, and entered the small cabin where Isabella was held prisoner.

Guy heard two people talking, but the conversation stopped abruptly when they heard his heavy footsteps. Isabella lay on a straw mattress, her right hand cuffed to something above her head. Archer sat on the floor next to her, his eyes oscillating between her frightened expression and Guy’s angry face.

Guy shot Archer a furious look. “You are here, you damned assassin! What are you doing here?” His anger was pure and completely justified in his eyes because at its root was concern about Isabella’s decency.

Archer turned and said imperturbably, “Lady Isabella is terrified of the storm.”

“Get out of here!” Guy ordered. “She doesn’t need your help!”

Archer grinned brassily. “And why should I?”

“Get out. Now,” Guy said, hissing each word. “Leave me with my sister.”

“Sir Guy, you may command your men, but I don’t obey you,” Archer spoke in a rude voice. “I have no allegiance to anyone, and certainly not to you or Vaisey.”

Guy scoffed. “So you are your own man?”

“I am only interested in self-preservation and making my living on margins. As Prince John hired me for the expedition to the Holy Land, I obey the prince,” Archer said brusquely, his head high.

“Leave. Right now,” Guy spoke brusquely.

As his gaze fell on Archer’s scimitar and another short curved sword, both weapons drawn in two golden scabbards that hung at the belt on his side, Guy felt the urge to cross the blades with the assassin. Vaisey assured him several times that Archer was a highly-skilled swordsman and a connoisseur of exotic weapons after the many years he had spent in the East. Archer’s knowledge of the Eastern fighting styles was the main reason for Prince John’s decision to hire him for their mission in Acre. Guy was an expert swordsman, and he wondered whether he could overpower Archer in a fair combat.

“Or what?” Archer asked, grinning at him sheepishly.

Guy’s anger was in full swing. “Or I will kill you now,” he threatened.

“Don’t forget that I am Prince John’s man on this mission,” Archer fired back with an arrogant smile. He got to his feet and walked to the door.

Isabella greeted her brother with a sardonic smile. “What do you want?”

Guy looked down at his sister. “How are you?”

“What is it? Why do you care?” She was alarmed by his unusual behavior.

“I came to ask whether you need something.”

“I need nothing from you and Vaisey,” Isabella burst out. “The months were only a little better than the years I had spent with my husband, although I am not beaten now – I am only chained and gagged.”

“If you need nothing, then I bid you good night,” he replied, intending to leave.

“You owe me one thing.”

Her sharp voice stopped him. He turned to face her. “What?”

Isabella’s unfriendly gaze focused on her brother’s impenetrable eyes. “Why don’t you impel Vaisey to release me, your own sister? It that because I failed you?” she asked, nervousness evident in her voice.

Guy was momentarily taken aback by her questions. Then he blustered, “Shut up, Isabella.”

Her steel blue eyes were burning with an intense fervency that left Guy feeling uneasy. She was going to be insistent because she needed the answer to the question that tormented her since her wedding. “Why did you give me to Squire Thornton? Did I fail you in the childhood, too?” She narrowed her eyes. “What will you answer me? Don’t you owe me that at least? I must know the truth!”

He heaved a sigh. “I owe you nothing. I did what was best.”

“You condemned me to hell, and I must know why,” she said stiffly.

“You are a foolish girl, and you don’t understand the world.”

“No, Guy, you are wrong. I understand many things perfectly well. I just want to hear it from you,” she replied in a demanding tone. “Why did you give me to Squire Thornton? Why?”

Gisborne shuffled on his feet, as her interrogation inspired vivid images of the past to resurrect in his head: Vaisey telling him that he had had a candidate for Isabella’s hand, his sister’s hate-filled eyes when he had announced the news to her, the wedding with only the two Gisborne siblings, Thornton, and Vaisey in attendance, and then, finally, Isabella’s hateful face and the viperous laughs of Vaisey and Thornton when the newly-weds had been leaving for the wedding night. He fought to clear his mind for a moment. 

He suddenly resolved to confess.  “ _Thornton offered a fair price for you. That’s why I did that_.”

There was a moment’s shocked silence. The siblings looked at one another, Isabella with her eyes wide in horror mingled with shock and Guy with a chilly, hard gaze like a guardian at the gates of hell.

“No, no, no,” Isabella gasped breathlessly.

Guy answered harshly, hoping that his speech wouldn’t sound like a mockery, “So, Isabella, did I fall short of your expectations? Do you still think that you needed my protection when you left your husband? Or maybe you should have stayed with Squire Thornton who seems to have tried to inculcate you with a respect for a man but failed. I think that Lord Vaisey is right: a man should bend his woman to his will so that she doesn’t steer from the right path.” As he saw his sister’s face distort in rage, he regretted the words.

“I hate you!” Isabella hissed between gritted teeth, the traces of all her travails and all her hatred for men plainly written across her face at the moment. A fat tear fell from her eye. “Just leave,” she whispered.

At that moment, Archer appeared at the doorway. “Are you alright, Lady Isabella?”

A heavy silence ensued, and all eyes riveted on Isabella.

She smiled painfully. “Haven’t you guessed yet?” she inquired wearily. “Do I look like I am alright?”

Archer shook his head as he scrutinized her face. “No, you don’t, my lady.”

“Get out, Master Archer. You are annoying me,” Guy said from between gritted teeth.

Archer sniggered. “Will you try to kill me if I stay, Sir Guy? Like Vaisey killed Guy de Lusignan?”

Isabella gasped in horror. “Really? The sheriff murdered de Lusignan? The King of Cyprus? ”

“Yes, he did!” Archer’s eyes met Isabella’s. “Vaisey killed him in a dirty tavern in front of many people. De Lusignan was disguised when he came to the meeting, so it was the murder of the disguised king.”

“You and Vaisey are murderers, Guy!” Isabella returned hotly and drew in a hissing breath. “You are men, and you think that you can kill and humiliate! If only I were born a man, I would have been able to do what I want and to be responsible for my own life! And then I wouldn’t have been sold by my own brother to the man who raped me on my wedding night and who violated me throughout so many years!”

Guy cursed, his eyes gleaming warningly. “Stop, Isabella,” he expostulated surprisingly gently.

“Did you really sell her to her husband?” Archer asked icily, an angry flush suffusing his young cheeks.

A fiery expression in his eyes, Guy nodded; he was outraged and dismayed in equal measure that Archer had overheard them. “I gave her a chance to have a better life. She failed to use it.”

“Oh, I am sure you wanted all the best for me,” Isabella replied dryly with a poisonous smile.

Archer frowned in a perturbed way. The conflicting emotions raged through him, and questions circled his mind. Guy wished to kill Robin Hood and hated him, but he was no better than the sheriff, Archer concluded. He hated Guy for what his half-brother had done to Isabella, their sister. The revelation of the dark secret, which the Gisborne siblings had kept and which alienated them, shocked Archer to the core.

An appalled Archer had to ward off the urge to draw his sword and plunge it into Guy chest. “I would love to cross swords with you right now, but I won’t do to do this. Not in front of Lady Isabella.”

Archer bowed majestically, his outward bearing as haughty and devil-may-care. Archer’s eyes locked with Guy’s, and the man in black leather shuddered; he suddenly thought that he was looking into Robin Hood’s eyes, the eyes of the same rare color – the pale blue eyes, so light, nearly translucent.

Guy flicked his gaze to his sister and spoke sincerely. “Isabella, I truly wanted to give you a better life.”

Isabella sent her brother an eminently contemptuous glare. “I don’t believe you, Guy. You never wrote me to ask how I was doing. You left even before you met me after my wedding night. You didn’t see that the next morning, I was weeping, but my eyes were swollen and red-rimmed – you could have deciphered that something was wrong with me. And there were many bruises on my face that you should have seen them!” She scoffed. “But you didn’t even stay at the inn for one night after the accursed wedding! You didn’t see how I looked like when Thornton shoved me out of the room into the corridor! You didn’t see how people shrank away from me in disgust! You behaved not like a man of honor and integrity, acting as if I were not your sister but one of the slaves whom Eastern slave traders sell to the highest bidders.”

Guy felt his heart twist. He disliked Squire Thornton from their first meeting, but he had been afraid to ask. He had needed Squire Thornton’s money at that time because he had to pay for his knighthood training in Rouen. The sheriff had paid him such a small fee for the services as his squire that it had been not enough to support himself and his sister. But it was true that he had never wanted to hurt Isabella deliberately.

Guy swiveled and walked to the door, but he paused, giving Isabella one last ambiguous look. He kicked the door open and slammed it shut behind him. He scarcely reached his cabin before someone’s brisk step was heard in the corridor, and then a shadow appeared on the wall. Guy recognized Archer’s slender figure.

Guy looked at the younger man, his brow furrowing. “What do you want?”

Archer stopped next to Guy. “What are you going to do with Lady Isabella?” he questioned directly, his gaze baring his naked concern about her, without any mischief and arrogance.

“What do you need from my sister?”

Archer ignored his question. “Are you going to let Vaisey murder her?”

“She won’t die,” Guy promised.

“And who will save her?”

Guy averted his eyes. “I just said that she would not die.”

“Ah, you are a hero and shall save her,” Archer taunted.

Guy glanced at him gruffly. “Why do you think it is your business? You do fancy my sister?”

“It is not my business, but yours, as her brother. She doesn’t deserve to be treated worse than a peasant.”

“Leave my sister alone! She is a married lady! Don’t you dare try to seduce her!”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Guy strode swiftly in the direction of his cabin. Guy was unaware that Archer was staring after him, his eyes filled with conflicting emotions, his heart in his throat.

Archer returned to Isabella and found her cuddled on the mattress, weeping and cursing Guy. When he walked in, she lifted her eyes to him, and he could see her face saturated with tears that fell to soak her gown. Archer sat down on the floor, near Isabella, and his arms encircled her, pulling her to him into a protective embrace. He let her cry for speaking while as he stroked her tumbled hair with a gentle hand.

As she calmed down and her tears began to dry, Archer put his hand under her chin and tilted up her head up, so she was forced to look into his eyes. “He won’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him hurt you.”

“Thank you,” Isabella murmured, her eyes brimming with tears.

Isabella gave Archer a faint smile, not wishing to be alone in the terrible weather as the storm obviously wasn’t going to abate. Archer smiled back at her, and he took an oath that he would do anything to protect her from Vaisey and even Guy, if necessary. Thoughts were dashing frantically inside his head as he endeavored to invent a plan to rescue Isabella and Marian. The only thing Archer didn’t know was that she didn’t need to be saved from Guy, but Guy needed to be saved from her.

§§§

Guy of Gisborne entered the small cabin which he shared with Marian. Carefully, he lit one candle and placed it at a table in the corner. He swung around and stared at the female figure on the bed.

Marian lay on the bed, her face down, as though she hadn’t heard Guy had come. Guy walked over to the bed, sat on the edge, and reached out to unshackle her. At the clang of metallic chains, she raised her head and looked at him, astonished by his actions. She contemplated Guy, her eyes challenging him and accusing him of all the sins and wrongdoings he had committed in his life.

Guy sighed, trying to ignore the first stirrings of anger in the pit of his stomach. How long would Marian look at him as if he were her worst enemy? Sighing deeply, Guy perused his wife and noticed that she was pale as a ghost; she lost much weight since they had left England. For an instant, she reminded him of a frail bird because of her wanness and slimness. The arduous journey and nervousness had their toll on her.

Rejoiced in her newly acquired freedom, Marian sat on the bed and regarded Guy with a cynical smile. With undiminished enthusiasm, she continued looking at him for several minutes, smiling scornfully, and he almost wished he had stayed on the deck. Then she turned her head away and sighed.

“Marian, you should stay calm. It is a strong storm,” Guy said gently, breaking the silence.

Marian looked back at him. “Why did we sail in the storm?”

“The sheriff wants to be in Acre as soon as possible,” he answered after a short pause. “We are sailing very quickly. Yesterday, we left the shores of Cyprus, and soon we will see the port of Acre.”

She frowned at him. “Will you attempt regicide again?”

Guy looked at Marian for a long, long time, and she met his gaze unflinchingly. “I will kill the king.”

“You are a fool, Guy!” she declared fiercely. “I told you many times that Vaisey will give you no power. And you… will regret killing the king. I don’t believe that you want to take our liege’s life.”

“If King Richard returns to England, we – you and I – will have nothing – no lands, no status, no power, and no future. Or, perhaps, you will have Knighton, but I will be dead.”

“I don’t need power! I don’t need lands!” she underscored.

“Marian, we deserve to have a comfortable life. I wouldn’t be deprived of what is mine in all fairness!”

“Happiness is not about power and wealth,” she affirmed.

“I know,” he said quietly. “But even though I don’t really want to kill King Richard, I must go along this plan. Otherwise, Vaisey will murder you and Isabella.”

“There is another way out.” The storm persisted, the wind raged; the boat was dancing like a cork in the boiling waters. It seemed to Marian that the world was disintegrating around her.

“Marian, why did you put me into this position? Why did you try to kill the sheriff? Did you ever try to understand what I was feeling... or thinking?”

Marian grimaced in disgust. “The sheriff is mad. I had to prevent him from killing King Richard.”

Guy shook his head. “No, he is single-minded. He doesn’t allow distractions.”

“To divert him from his course of destroying innocent people and the king,” she finished for him. She raised her chin, her sapphire eyes blazing into his, conveying in that one look all the despair and rage she felt right now. “Distractions? Like a little humanity?”

Guy sighed heavily, turning away from her. “Humanity is a weakness.”

Marian grabbed his arm, making him turn to her. “You don’t believe that, Guy. You don’t.”

“I… I…” He stumbled with words.

“Guy, kill the sheriff when we arrive in Acre.”

A sigh tumbled from his lips. “There is nothing I can do.”

“No, you can.” Her voice resonated like the sound of a bell. “Turn on Vaisey.”

“And even if I agree, how can I do that?” he asked in a baffled voice.

“We need someone in King Richard’s entourage who can speak for you.”

“Hood!” Guy shouted frenziedly, his visage contorted in fury. “Again this brat! This thief! Don’t tell me that I must beg Hood for help on my knees! I will never do that!”

Marian bit her lips, her whole being foaming with anger. It was going to be more difficult that she had planned. “Alright. Do you know someone else close to King Richard?”

“We don’t need that.”

“Sir Roger de Tosny!” She remembered the name of the man whom Guy had served in Normandy before Vaisey hired him. “You can find Sir Roger in Acre and warn him about the regicide attempt.”

Guy tossed his head in disagreement. “I cannot.”

“You said that Roger de Tosny is in King Richard’s good graces. He will help us. He will–”

He interrupted her and roared, “No, stop saying this!”

Marian’s gaze was entreating him to listen to her solicitations. “Guy, you once told me that you were relieved that you hadn’t killed the king.”

“I was… oddly relieved,” he admitted. “I don’t know why I felt so.”

“You don’t want to kill our liege!”

Guy looked at Marian, but he wasn’t thinking of her. The thought of Robin Hood entered his mind. What scared him the most was his own emotional conflict – the battle of light and darkness in him. It may have been the effect of the wild storm and the shock stemming from their closeness to Acre, but Guy somehow felt that he didn’t want to kill Robin Hood and King Richard, for unexplainable reasons. The image of young Robin flickered in his mind, and he discovered that his hatred for Robin was not as strong as before.

Father Alden, the old priest in the church located in the suburbs of Nottingham, had told Guy strange things, and he couldn’t forget about them. The priest had said that if he had killed King Richard and Robin Hood, he would have lost all chances for redemption. He didn’t want to believe that Roger of Gisborne had somehow wronged Malcolm of Locksley and Robin. The priest’s words were the product of the old man’s imagination, or maybe he just wanted to get Guy confused. It was so much easier to forget what the priest had told him, but for whatever reason, those words haunted him. What did Father Alden hint at?

"Do you want to kill our liege?" Marian repeated her question, raising her voice slightly.

“Marian, I don’t endorse regicide, and I think that it is wrong to kill a king. But I cannot accede to your request, although I don’t want to kill the Lionheart,” he confessed. “But I have to.”

Marian heard the sincerity in his words; she had to try to pressure him again so as to persuade him to rebel against Vaisey. She cast a reprobatory glance at him. “The simplicity of the whole meaning of your refusal lies in the gratitude you supposedly feel to Vaisey for taking you into his service in Normandy. But it would have been better to work gratuitously than to serve Vaisey!” She paused, searching for the right words to continue. She stated, “Guy, you have no reason to be effusive in gratitude to Vaisey! He has done nothing good for you, except for tormenting you in unimaginable ways! Break from the sheriff: just kill him!”

“Hush! Hush!” Guy spoke urgently, casting an anxious glance around as if someone could eavesdrop. “Vaisey hears everything and can do whatever he wants to us. There is also Prince John’s personal assassin.”

She scoffed. “I don’t care. I cannot let you kill the king and Robin.”

As Marian spoke about Robin, Guy studied her closely. While his mind was occupied with musings about Marian and Isabella and with his dreams of having power beyond measure, he also thought of Robin’s marriage. He wanted to see Marian’s reaction to the news, expecting it to be dramatic. “I know something interesting about Robin Hood,” he announced, his eyes focused on his wife’s face.

Marian‘s heart skipped a beat and then began to pound in her ears. “What news?”

Their eyes met, and Guy was suddenly conscious of the spark of delicious exhilaration he could see in her eyes when he mentioned Robin. “ _Robin Hood married the king’s cousin in Acre a few months ago_ ,” he delivered a blow with a twisted smile.

She swallowed hard, and her eyes widened; her lips turned dry and would not move. She was petrified with shock, and her heart was breaking in her chest into countless smithereens. During their last meeting, Robin had been absolutely heartbroken, and she couldn’t believe that any thought of romance could be passing through his mind in the nearest future. How is that possible that Robin was now married? She had been the mistress of Robin’s heart for so long, and she had thought that they had been connected by the ties that were as strong as those of Orpheus and Eurydice. What was the kernel of Robin’s feelings for her – his pure, deep love he had spoken about a few times in a rare outburst of candor or another ephemeral feeling named lust? Was she an episode in Robin’s life, like many other women whom he had bedded?

“What?” Marian choked out.

“Hood married the king’s cousin,” he repeated.

She shook her head in disbelief. “No, it is impossible.”   

“This is true. Prince John’s spy on Cyprus told us.”

The blood drained from Marian’s face, and she looked like an apparition of herself. “Well, I don’t know what to say,” she returned lifelessly, too stunned to cry.

“If it makes your life easier, we were told that it was a political marriage,” Guy added, not knowing why he tried to alleviate her pain. “Hood did that out of loyalty to the king. I think he was ordered to marry.”

Marian sank heavily back onto the pillows and put her hand to her mouth. “It is my entire fault! Only my fault!” she lamented, unable to fight off tears.

Guy looked away. “It is not your fault. He married to ensure the loyalty of Poitevin lords to the king.”

A feeling of disgust with herself was creeping into her heart. “You don’t understand, Guy.” She implied that her rejection had pushed Robin into an unhappy loveless marriage.

“What should I understand?” he inquired, his expression befuddled.

“Nothing.”

“Do you love Robin Hood?” he managed to ask.

“It doesn’t matter.” Marian was extremely confused with her feelings. She was greatly attracted to Guy, and she often thought that she loved him. But thoughts and memories of Robin never left her, and she fiercely desired to see him and protect him from the sheriff. Her affection for Robin didn’t fade away.

“Then your reaction is not understandable,” he said softly, watching as she was struggling with tears.

“I miss him,” Marian confessed, unable to meet his gaze.

Marian dissolved into tears and sobbed brokenly. Through a mist of the tears, Marian saw Guy’s painful expression. A spasm of rage shook her at the thought of Vaisey and Guy still planning to assassinate the king. But the pain that the news of Robin’s marriage had caused her was a hundred times stronger than all her other feelings. Robin had married another woman, not her, his Marian! She lost Robin! But what could she expect after her betrayal of Robin’s love? She made her choices, and she had no right to blame Robin for anything, for he was a free man and a loyal vassal of his king and his country.

Marian cried so hard that Guy’s heart clenched in pain, and he scooped her into his arms, holding her gently against his chest, rocking her to and fro as she wept. She clung to him, burying her face into his chest until her sobs subsided. Finally, he released her and brushed away the tears that ran down her pale cheeks.

When he wanted to leave, she grasped his hand. “Don’t leave me,” she pleaded.

Her declaration evoked a secretive smile on Guy’s lips. “I will stay, my love.” He sat down on the bed.

Marian was exhausted from anxiety, pain, and worry. She heard his words, vaguely, and she wondered if he had really called her his love or if she was dreaming. She had never felt so lonely before.

“You will just sit and stare at me, Guy?”

He clenched his fists and growled, “And what do you want me to do?”

“I cannot be alone. Not tonight,” she whispered.

Guy flung her away from him so forcefully that the force of the gesture propelled her all the way across the bed and against the headboard. She gazed at him in shock, tears shimmering in her eyes, her face white with sudden apprehension.

He grumbled, “You didn’t want even to talk to me since we left Nottingham. Today, you don’t want to be alone only because I told you about Hood’s marriage.”

“You would strike me now as you did when you learned that I was the Nightwatchman?”

Her vulnerability was amplified by the distress etched into every line of her face, and Guy couldn’t stand it. It was not something he was all too familiar with, and it tugged at his heartstrings. Despite his anger at her, he stepped to her and pulled her into his arms. “I am not going to beat you, Marian,” he assured her.

All at once, a strange fancy seized Guy and stirred his blood. He started covering her face with kisses. They kissed for an endless time, forgetting about the raging storm outside and the extreme oddity of their sudden overpowering attraction to each other. Guy embraced her appreciatively, and Marian felt trapped in his strong arms as she lay back on the bed. They stripped one another off their clothes quickly. She lay there completely naked, except for her undergarments, and his eyes drank in the loveliness of her forms. Guy’s mouth crushed on hers with scorching heat and ever-rising pressure.

Marian responded to his fervent kisses, her tongue entwining with his, searching, exploring, and tasting. Longing surged through her in confusing, conflicting waves, mingling with need and willingness to drown her pain in an ocean of passion. Nothing was holding her back, not after she had learned that Robin had wedded another woman. There was only her loneliness and helplessness in her devastated world, which pushed her to cling to Guy, thinking that his arms could give her shelter.

Guy understood that it was not pure love that induced Marian to have an encounter with him tonight. She never showed that she wanted him since their departure from England. Instead, she cast downhearted glances at him, accusing him of callousness and cruelty when they spoke, and he lived through the travails of mind and heart due to her rejection. But tonight she needed him for comfort after learning about Hood’s matrimony. Nevertheless, Guy didn’t care why she wanted him: demons were tearing his heart apart, and he wanted her to take away a part of his pain. For a moment, hope for a better future for him and Marian was beginning to take shape in his mind, but, oddly, Guy found his love and need for her not as sharp as before.

He ran his hands through her hair, murmuring endearments in French into her ear. He broke the kiss and looked into her dazed eyes. “I wonder whom you love,” he blurted out suddenly.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said huskily.

“Do you want me, Marian?”

Marian kissed his collarbone, then his shoulder. “I do,” she breathed.

Seeking fulfillment, they joined together as he penetrated her, both gasping aloud with a wealth of pleasurable sensations. Her hands fluttered down his back as she moved restlessly beneath him, sinking her fingers in the mass of his dark hair. A flash of impossibly bright light exploded in their heads, and waves of heated rapture washed over them, burning them from the inside out, like a fire that threatened to consume them in its hungry flames. Guy held her tight to his chest while the receding aftershocks shook them.

“Marian?” he called softly, his arm encircling her waist.

Marian looked at him. “Yes?” Her face was illuminated by the moonlight that leaked into the cabin.

“Are you alright?” he inquired with concern.

“More or less.” She leaned down, and her lips traced the path down his throat to his chest. She kissed the old long scar on his shoulder and then caressed it with her finger. “What did you get this scar?”

“Vaisey,” he spat.

She raised her head to look into his eyes, her brows arching. “When did he stab you so?”

Guy shut his eyes in a mix of pain and shame that memories evoked. “Remember what I told you about my life in Normandy. Vaisey blackmailed me and forced me to kill Prince Richard’s knight in the forest, for the first time in my life. Then he commanded me to behead his dead body.” He trailed off.

She sighed heavily. “This monster threatened to kill you if you didn’t do that.”

“Yes.” Guy sighed. “So much pain,” he murmured, shutting his eyes. “There was so much hurt in my life, so many betrayals and hardships. I wish I could forget everything.”

“You have to forget,” she advised.  “But you should not kill if you want to build a new life.”

Guy shuddered, and his body tensed. “I cannot. And I have to kill.”

“Not the king and not Robin.”

He opened his eyes and glowered at her. “You do love Hood,” he asserted.

Marian pulled away from him and covered herself with a sheet, putting a distance between them on the bed. “No, this is different,” she snapped irritably. “How you enjoy hurting people! Oh, I hate you for that!”

“I should hate you, too,” Guy whispered, more to himself than to her. “For sleeping with Hood before me, for frequently thinking of him when you are with me.”

She sighed shamefully. “I thought you didn’t know.”

“I am not a fool,” he muttered. “I should hate you, but I cannot.”

She stared into his eyes, gently laying a hand on his chest. “Don’t kill the king and Robin. If you cannot do this for yourself to be free from your demons, then don’t commit regicide for me.”

Guy abruptly sat up on the bed. “We have already talked about that.”

Marian spoke passionately, “I thought that you are a decent man! Don’t commit treason, Guy!”

He hissed between set teeth, “This is because of Hood.”

“No! Because of you! I don’t want you to commit an act of treason!”

“I cannot stop. Not now. It is too late. There is no way back. Vaisey blackmails me, and I cannot let him murder you and Isabella,” he spluttered. “And Hood must pay for what he did to me in childhood.”

Marian jerked away violently, her expression crestfallen and disappointed. “Oh, don’t tell me that you hate Robin! You cannot murder King Richard and Robin! I will do something! I won’t let you kill them!”

Gripped by the strangest blend of powerful passion and heartache, Guy surveyed her distressed features. There was an expression of inhuman agony in the depths of his steel blue eyes that made Marian’s heart clench painfully. He growled something low in his throat, and then climbed out of the bed. He grabbed his leather trousers from the floor and hastily put them on; then he donned his jacket.

Guy’s eyes glittered dangerously as he locked his gaze with hers. “Marian, you don’t know what you want and whom you want! You need me and Hood, my sworn enemy! But you cannot have him! You are punishing me for your own secret desires and confusion!” His voice took a higher octave, and his eyes narrowed at her. “You are an extraordinary woman, but you are also a child in a woman’s body. Grow up!”

Marian opened her mouth to speak, angry words boiling in her throat, but her voiced failed her. He finished dressing and headed to the exit. He left without giving her a backward glance.

Marian took a sharp intake of breath. “Guy! Guy! Guy!” she shouted.

Tears sprang into her eyes, and she squeezed them shut, her heart collapsing in her chest. The ache in her heart was more powerful than any pain she had ever felt before in her life. _She loved Robin of Locksley_! Love for Robin always was a part of her, but she had rejected him because he loved the king and his country more than her. And _she also loved Guy of Gisborne, or she believed that she loved him_. The assumption that she probably loved both Robin and Guy made her fraught with anguish and with even more doubts.

Marian ruminated woefully that she found it much easier to think about the salvation of the king and England than to dwell on her personal complicated situation. She didn’t find the solution as to how to save the king during the endless days of the journey, hoping that Guy would change his mind and murder the sheriff, but it didn’t happen. She would have to save the king on her own, even if she had to sacrifice herself for King Richard. She just hoped that it was not too late and that she wouldn’t fail.

Meanwhile, Guy stood near the door, listening to the sounds of her sobs. He felt strangely distant from his wife at the moment, and his mind was centered on the new regicide attempt. Guy didn’t want to kill King Richard, and he was amused with his own sensations and doubts. His gut feeling told him that the sheriff would fail to kill the king again. A feeling of foreboding was alerting him to the fact that someone might die; he feared the outcome of their voyage to Acre. A haunting fear of death and doom gripped his heart.

He turned slowly in a circle, gazing at the door to Marian’s cabin. He couldn’t go to her. He had to spend some time alone and to think. He strode forward and opened another door, disappearing in a nearby cabin.

§§§

As daylight had faded and the sinking sun painted the sky a dark orange and red against the blue, the sheriff’s ship found refuge in the harbor of Acre. The water reflected the rays of the setting sun, sending up a splendid array of red light onto the surface. It was a miracle that the vessel hadn’t been wrecked in the savage storm, and Vaisey claimed that it was a good omen for their mission. The journey to Acre was over.

As soon as they disembarked, Vaisey instructed five of his the nine French mercenaries to take the captives ashore. Neither Marian nor Isabella resisted; everyone was extremely exhausted after the journey from Cyprus to Acre. Marian didn’t talk to Guy, deliberately ignoring him and thinking hard about how to thwart the sheriff’s plans; Isabella was silent, too, watching Guy and Marian from the corner of her eye.

They rode on camels to the house in the suburbs of Acre which was owned by the sheriff’s Muslim allies. The Arabic house was large and luxurious, with a large garden and two enchanting courtyards. The garden was encompassed by high walls so that it was impossible to enter there without going through any of the courtyards. The garden was heavy with the scent of the late autumn, and a mist clung to the ground. Looking around in awe, Marian and Isabella were carried to one of the rooms; each of them was chained to the wall by their ankles. Guy and Archer uttered no word and closed the door, treading behind the sheriff. The sheriff quickly had a dinner and then left, ordering Gisborne and Archer to wait for him in the house.

By the time Vaisey returned in a couple of hours, darkness had fallen, and lights had begun to appear in the city of Acre. As the house of the sheriff’s accomplices was located on the outskirts of the city and there were no other houses in the neighborhood, Archer and Guy were not able to watch the transition of the city to the night. Yet, the two young man had to put up with the necessity to contemplate Vaisey’s Manichaean smile and stare into the deep blackness of the sheriff’s eyes that were piercing them as Vaisey seated himself in a chair near the window and looked at each of them in turn in silence for a long time.

The sheriff was obviously in an elated mood. He intoned pompously, “Oh, this is so sweet to be in Acre. I told you that we would make it to Acre in four days, and we are here. I like this place a lot.”

Guy and Archer both sighed with relief. It was better when Vaisey spoke instead of terrorizing them with his excruciating stares. Still, they felt as if they were wrapped in the folds of the darkness that emanated from the sheriff and seemed to gleam darkly in the air.

“The heat is unbearable,” Archer agreed.

The sheriff chuckled, his eyes darting between Guy and Archer. “The heat is not important, boys. We are so close to winning power beyond measure! We will kill the king and then will go home. Soon Prince John will become King of England.”

“My lord, my wife and sister…” Guy began but trailed off.

The sheriff laughed half-heartedly. “Gizzy, speak and quickly while I permit you this.”

Guy held Vaisey’s gaze, his eyes inscrutable. “I want them safe.”

“Gisborne, take a deep breath and enjoy these last moments before our triumph. Don’t worry! Your lepers will be fine. They must be taught a lesson in obedience, and the last few months served this purpose well,” the sheriff promulgated. “Be loyal to me, Gizzy, and you will share the imperatorial laurels with me.”

“I am loyal to you, my lord,” Guy responded.

“Will you release them?” Archer cast a suspicious glance at the sheriff.

The sheriff measured Archer with a scrupulous glance. “Archy, I see that you truly fancy Lady Isabella. Do you love her more than Gizzy loves his leper wife? Oh, oh, oh! This is dangerous, Archy! Lepers are making men weak and soft, which happened to my dear Gizzy. Be careful with lepers.”

“Spare me your lectures about lepers, my lord,” Archer barked, frowning. “You should better learn more about women before giving us recommendations how to deal with any lady.”

Vaisey smiled nastily, but inside he was seething with anger. “Archy, you are an ill-mannered man. Didn’t your parents teach you how to respect elder people?”

“I don’t have parents. I have been an orphan since my birth,” Archer grouched, remembering Malcolm of Locksley and wondering whether Robin had any idea about his father’s survival in the fire.

Vaisey outstretched his arms in a gesture of grief. “How sad! Poor boy! Alone in the world!”

A knock at the door was an interruption, and Gisborne unsheathed his sword. Guy opened the door, and the Saracen entered, his gaze wandering around the room, seeking for Sheriff Vaisey or the man clad in black leather, as he referred to Guy after their first meeting in Acre more than two years ago.

As Guy saw him, he sheathed his sword. The Saracen smiled and showed the sheriff his ring with the sheriff’s insignia, and Vaisey laughed.

“Good evening,” Nasir spoke in English.

“Good evening. Are you Nasir?” Vaisey responded.

Nasir nodded. “Yes, I am. And you are Lord Vaisey?”

The sheriff showed his ring to the man. “Yes, I am.”

Nasir shifted his gaze from Gisborne to Archer. “I know Sir Guy of Gisborne, but I have never met this man and several other men who ransacked me outside.”

The sheriff chuckled. “These men are with us! They are my highly trained mercenaries! They fight for me and only for me!” He smiled. “Nasir, my dear boy, Gisborne told me wonderful things about you! Please take a seat there and feel as if you were at home!” He gestured towards one of the chairs.

There was another knock at the door, and Gisborne opened it, letting another Saracen, taller and older than Nasir, to walk in. Karim was also one of the sheriff’s accomplices in Acre.

“I am Karim, Nasir’s right-hand man,” Karim introduced himself.

“Very good. Oh, very good.” The sheriff eyed Nasir and Karim. “I am pleased to meet all my allies and friends in this distant and enigmatic land.”

“What is our plan?” Nasir questioned.

“It depends on the circumstances. Do you have any news?” Vaisey asked briskly.

“King Richard has already signed the peace treaty with Saladin,” Nasir informed.

Guy and Archer looked at the sheriff, waiting for his response. They understood the seriousness of the situation, for if the peace with Saladin had been made, they failed at least one part of their plan as Prince John wished to kill his brother before the official end of the Crusade.

Vaisey let out a groan of frustration. “When?”

“Five days ago,” Nasir replied. “Are you still planning to assassinate King Richard?”

The sheriff gave a curt nod. “Of course, we will kill the king.”

“Now we won’t be able to cast the blame on Saladin’s generals,” Nasir pointed out.

Vaisey looked at Nasir, his gaze sly. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean?” Nasir looked confused.

“Be patient, my boy. Patience is goodness that pays off in one way or another,” the sheriff said cheerfully, his mind plotting a new twist in his diabolical plan. “When is the king leaving Acre?”

Karim joined the conversation. “Our spy in the king’s camp enlightened us today that Melek-Ric and his entourage, including Captain Locksley and Captain Beaumont, will depart from Acre in two days.”

“What are you going to do, my lord? They will be gone very soon, and we cannot stop them.” Guy wasn’t frustrated with the news about peace: instead, he was alarmed by the sheriff’s behavior.

“Gizzy, I always have a plan,” Vaisey said, scowling at his henchman. “The peace may always be ruined. Or the conditions of the peace treaty may be altered.”

Nasir smiled wryly. “I see where you are going, my lord.”

“You, Nasir, are going to visit King Richard.” The sheriff rose to his feet and approached Nasir, then handed to him the object that was wrapped in a velvet cloth. “You are Saladin’s new messenger.”

Nasir unwrapped Saladin’s royal seal. “Where did you get it?”

“It belonged to Saladin’s old messenger,” Vaisey stated, grinning malevolently.

Archer and Guy stared at the sheriff incredulously. They began to understand where the sheriff had been during the several hours between their arrival in the house and the visit of Karim and Nasir.

“My dear mercenaries found him and tied him up, and then I took the seal,” Vaisey explained. “Of course, I didn’t need witnesses, and the messenger is currently… a little dead.”

“You are a dangerous man, Lord Vaisey,” Nasir said, smiling widely. “But there is also a password.”

Vaisey snickered. “Oh, yes, it wasn’t very difficult to get it. The poor messenger didn’t have a chance even to have a long and sweet chat with me, although I didn’t need him to talk much. I only needed the password.” He looked at Karim. “It was pulling his teeth that broke the messenger, and he spoke eagerly.”

Karim and Nasir burst out laughing. Guy and Archer remained somber.

“Should I kill the barbaric king when I arrive in his camp?” Karim questioned.

Vaisey shook his head in denial. “No, no, no. You won’t get to within a thousand yards of the king’s tent, even though the peace treaty is signed. I want you to lure him out.”

Nasir looked amazed. “How? What will I tell the king?”

Vaisey grinned fiendishly. “You will tell the king’s guards that you are Saladin’s messenger; you will show them your seal. You will get into the camp and inform them that you are carrying an urgent message from Saladin about possible changes in the peace treaty,” he said monotonously. “As soon as the king hears that, he will agree to meet with you. When you should tell him that Saladin wants to re-consider some terms of the treaty and that they need to meet personally, face-to-face, to discuss the existing issues.”

“You think Melek-Ric will consent to that?” Karim doubted the plan.

Vaisey smiled craftily. “The king will agree if he thinks that Saladin may revoke the peace treaty.”

“Ah,” Guy and Archer said together.

“Great!” Nasir gave the sheriff a beamish smile. “You are truly a resourceful man, Lord Vaisey.”

Vaisey clapped his hands in delight. “I am. I am.”

Nasir grimaced in regret. “It is a pity that we cannot massacre the vile English king like a wild dog... like he did to the prisoners in Acre. I regret that he wasn’t killed in the massacre in the Crusaders’ camp.” He sniggered. “Otherwise, he would have been known as the massacred Melek-Ric.”

“That raid was doomed,” Vaisey asserted. “For many reasons.”

“That is true,” Nasir agreed. “Now they are on a high alert. We cannot even walk freely in the direction of the camp. Everything is patrolled by the king’s guards.”

“And you forgot two complexities,” Karim interjected.

“What?” Vaisey said irritably.

“Robin of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon, and Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester,” Karim said.

“They are a great problem. They won’t let the king meet with us alone,” Nasir agreed.

Sheriff Vaisey snickered, his eyes narrow with cunning. “I have been thinking about an effective trap for Robin of Locksley for many months. Yeah, our dearest forest bird has given me quite a lot of headaches!” He extracted the rolled parchment from the inner pocket of his tunic, smiling venomously. “We are going to add a little something extra to Saladin’s message to the king: we will make King Richard kill Robin Hood.” Then he became serious. “However, we will need to ask James what to do with Robert de Beaumont.”

Everyone stared at Vaisey in bewilderment, each of them at a loss for words.

“King Richard will never kill Huntingdon. He loves him very much,” Nasir spoke skeptically.

“Believe me that the king will be overwhelmed with mad rage once he reads these two letters,” Vaisey contradicted as he came to Nasir and passed the parchment to him. “Robin Hood’s hours are numbered. He won’t be a problem for us anymore.”

Nasir unrolled the parchment and quickly scanned the context. He laughed spitefully, leaning against the wall. “I have no doubt that Melek-Ric will be enraged if he sees these parchments.”

Vaisey feigned sadness. “How terrible! How evil! The brave and honest Captain Locksley has been a wretched traitor for so long, masking under the cover of goodness and loyalty.” His expression turned horrified. “Poor King Richard! He has cherished a viper in his bosom for so long!”

A feeling of alarm was building up in Archer’s chest. “What are you planning?” He wanted to get rid of Robin, not the King of England, intending to say later that he had had no chance to kill Richard but had killed Robin. Now, if the sheriff planned to dispose of Robin in another way, he didn’t know what to do.

A ripple of sadistic satisfaction and wicked euphoria ran through Vaisey as his mind conjured pictures of Robin’s execution under the king’s orders. “We are going to tell King Richard that his beloved Robin became the Black Knight after his return to Nottingham. The king will have the credible proof of Hood’s guilt, and nothing will pacify his Angevin temper then,” he elucidated. “I believe that Roger de Lacy will appear here soon, and he will follow in Hood’s footsteps: he will be executed on the charge of high treason.”

Guy was nonplussed. “What have you done, my lord?”

The sneering sheriff was radiating malice in all directions. “I hired a talented scribe in Nottingham. He manufactured some pretty useful fake letters written in the handwriting similar to Hood’s and stamped with the fake seal of the Huntingdon family. I paid a large fortune for this pleasure, but it was worthy of that.” He looked at Guy, grinning widely. “Gisborne, I have taken care of everything beforehand. As soon as Robin of Locksley and Roger de Lacy are executed, Locksley will be yours again. I did that for you, my Gizzy, to give you back what you lost twice. It is not a laughable matter that you owe me so much!”

“Thank you, my lord.” Guy’s lips trembled as he tried to return a grateful smile, but he failed.

Guy didn’t feel thrilled at the thought of getting Locksley back by letting King Richard kill Robin Hood as a traitor. He had never imagined that the sheriff could go so far to eradicate Robin Hood from earth. He feared to imagine what Vaisey would do to him, Marian, and Isabella, if he betrayed his master. The sheriff was a madman whose craftiness, wickedness, and cruelty had no limits. That horrible thought pervaded Guy’s mind, and he struggled to hide the shock and abhorrence caused by that sickening realization.

“Prince John likes Roger de Lacy,” Archer pointed out.

Vaisey’s visage was thoughtful and calculating. “As Gisborne’s boy, Allan, disappeared, it became clear that he would find Roger de Lacy and divulge our plans to him. And what could de Lacy do? Of course, he departed to Acre to save his beloved king whom he served dutifully and with devotion for seven years.”

Karim cursed under his breath. “Roger de Lacy, the captain of the third guard, slaughtered so many Saracens that I will scream and jump in delight at the news of his death. I will never forget how this green-eyed youth earned the reputation of a hellish holy warrior: Lord Walter Sheridan and Roger de Lacy led the massacre of Acre together, and they were pitiless to our countrymen.” He paused for an instant, and his face twisted into burning hatred. “I hate Sheridan and de Lacy with all my heart!”

“What about the Earl of Huntingdon? Did he kill unarmed prisoners?” Archer inquired.

There was a look of aversion on Karim’s face as he hissed, “Robin of Locksley, the captain of the king’s private guard, is famed for his humanity in the Holy Land. But he is not very human on the battlefield, for he is a God-gifted fighter and killed many of my countrymen.”

“Killing on the battlefield and killing defenseless men are different things,” Archer ventured an opinion. “Did Huntingdon kill unarmed prisoners?” He wished to hear the truth about the half-brother.

The sheriff laughed, looking at Archer attentively, but said nothing. Guy eyed Archer with interest.

Nasir answered scornfully, “The Earl of Huntingdon has a chivalrous reputation; the Earl of Leicester, the king’s beloved favorite and Huntingdon’s close friend, is also known for his chivalry. Huntingdon didn’t participate in the massacre of Acre, but he deserves to die because he ruined many of our assassination attempts on the Lionheart’s life and because he killed many Muslims.”

Karim smirked. “Good point, Nasir.”

“I see.” Archer was dithering whether to proceed with the murder of Robin.

“We will win! Nothing can stop us now!” the sheriff proclaimed confidently, his face splitting into a wry grin. “We will leave a trail of destruction and violence behind us! The king and Robin Hood will be dead! Prince John will become king! We will get power beyond measure!” His gaze flitted to Guy. “You, Gisborne, will finally settle scores with Hood. Isn’t it charming that Robin will be killed by his precious king?”

“It is… very good.” Guy was close to stammering with nervousness, his mouth smiling in a twisted way, even though the words came through clenched teeth.

Vaisey wiggled his finger at Gisborne, as if Guy were a petulant child. “Don’t let me down, my dear boy, my almost son. Remember what I told you about your lepers. Don’t make me teach you a lesson.”

“I haven’t forgotten that.” Guy swallowed hard. Frustration from the communication with the sheriff was as familiar to him as breathing, but now he was so overwhelmed with hatred that he worked hard to ward off the urge to rip his sword from the scabbard and behead the sheriff straight away.

“I arranged everything so that Locksley will be yours again,” the sheriff repeated.

“Thank you,” Guy forced himself to say.

Vaisey told Guy, “Be loyal to me, Gisborne, and I will reward your loyalty. You are nothing without me.”

Guy nodded. “I know.  I will always abide by your decision, my lord.”

Vaisey concluded with authority, “Yes, Gizzy, you will abide by all the rules I set for you and your lepers!”

“Yes, my lord.” Unable to withstand the intensity of Vaisey’s gaze, he directed his gaze at the window and looked out. There was pitch darkness outside, except for a faint sheen of the moonlight coming from a large serpent moon and filtering into the chamber. Darkness was a metaphor for his life, Guy thought.

Vaisey swept his eyes over the group of men, meeting Nasir’s gaze. “Death to the barbaric king!”

“Death to Melek-Ric!” Karim and Nasir cried out in a chorus.

Soon they had another important visitor – Sir James of Lambton, the former head of the king’s private guard in Robin’s absence in Acre and presently a common guard. He was one of the king’s favorites and confidantes. He was the only spy in the king’s camp who still worked for the Black Knights and whom Robin and his friends didn’t uncover during their new secret reconnaissance in disguise.

“Can I come in?” James began as he paused near the door. Dressed in a white Crusader tunic, James had a wrinkled and grim face; his skin was heavily tanned which contrasted sharply with his grizzled hair. There was slyness and darkness in his gray eyes that looked at everyone with haughtiness and arrogance.

Karim and Nasir bowed to James, and James nodded at them. They knew him very well, for they were in close contact with the spy during many years when they unsuccessfully tried to assassinate King Richard.

Guy also nodded at James, and James inclined his head in acknowledgment. They had also met each other when Guy had been in Acre last time. James had helped organize the Saracen raid when Guy had stabbed Robin and then failed to kill the king because of Robin’s interference.

“Sir James,” Vaisey said with a smile, “It has been so long since I last met you in London.”

James stepped into the room, smiling at the sheriff. “I miss my family, and I want to go home, but I have had to live in this hellhole for so long.” He smiled craftily. “But soon it will be over.”

Vaisey smiled back. “Yes! We will come back to England covered in the glory of killing the king!”

James nodded. “Lord Vaisey, we will win! Tomorrow is the most suitable day for the regicide attempt.”

“Why is that so?” Nasir asked curiously. “The king signed the peace treaty!”

“Let me tell Sir James about our plan,” the sheriff broke in. “He has to know what I invented to get rid of Robin of Locksley. Soon Hood won’t be able to thwart our plans again. Roger de Lacy won’t be a threat to us either.” His expression turned serious. “We will have to decide what to kill Robert de Beaumont.”

The sheriff apprised James of the guileful plot against Robin of Locksley and Roger de Lacy. He was talking with unlimited enthusiasm, looking immensely proud of himself as he had designed the plan of Robin Hood’s downfall. Finally, he would kill the leader of the merry men and the king! Vaisey remembered de Lusignan’s words that Hood’s death wasn’t in Prince John’s interests anymore, but he also had to deal with Robin because Robin would surely stop them again, and that wasn’t what they needed. Vaisey was sure that Prince John would pardon him for Robin’s murder if the regicide was successful.

James was surprised with the sheriff’s versute plan. He laughed noxiously. “What a funny idea to have Huntingdon killed by King Richard! I think the proof of Huntingdon’s alleged guilt which you have, Lord Vaisey, is more than enough to have the legendary Captain Locksley executed on the charge of treason.”

“Well, well! I agree!” Vaisey said with glee. “We should proceed.”

James veered his gaze to Guy. “Sir Guy, you won’t have to attack Captain Locksley from the back to remove him from your way! This time, the king’s captain will be killed by his own liege!”

“Certainly,” Guy returned between set teeth.

Guy glanced away to conceal the negative feelings he had for James. He utterly despised James – a traitor in the midst of the many Crusaders loyal to the king – since the day he had met him in Acre. Truth be told, he loathed all traitors and betrayal as fiercely as Robin did, and that also made him loathe himself for all the evil deeds he committed and would commit. Whatever one could say about him, Guy could be very loyal, even though his loyalty was misguided. He would have had all traitors annihilated so that the world would have been clear of them, he thought bitterly. Then Guy resolutely banned his thoughts from pursuing such a righteous speculation because he himself was a traitor, and he knew that very well.

Nasir broached another pressing matter. “What about Sir Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester? He can ruin our plans! When Huntingdon was here and in Huntingdon’s absence as well, Captain Beaumont thwarted many regicide attempts; once he almost died in the raid we organized near Ascalon.”

“We don’t need to do anything with Robert de Beaumont,” James put in. “He won’t be a threat, and this is one of the reasons why we must act tomorrow.”

Archer tensed. “Why?”

Vaisey looked interested and amused. “It is very interesting, James. Go on, please.”

“King Richard is intending to sail from Acre the day after tomorrow,” James continued as he surveyed the conspirators in turn. “All the Crusaders are currently celebrating the peace in the Holy Land. There is a farewell party today in one of Acre’s most expensive brothels. Almost everyone gathered there, including Robert de Beaumont, Carter of Stretton, Roger de Tosny, and Aubrey de Vere. From the king’s chief generals, only Edmund of Cranfield and Robin of Locksley don’t participate in today’s drunken dissipation.” He scoffed. “I also was there, but I retired in the middle of the party to meet with you.”

Karim and Nasir exploded with laughter. Archer smiled somewhat sadly. Guy’s face was impenetrable.

“La di da di da! It is so funny! It is so amazing!” Vaisey nearly sang. “We will be able to kill the king when his guard is down and when most of his loyal soldiers are sleeping after the night of wanton orgies.” He laughed viciously. “I guess the Earl of Leicester will spend the whole night with Saracen lepers. I remember very well the stories about his debauchery at court.”

James sniggered. “Yes, Leicester always enjoys dissipation with exotic whores whenever he has a chance. He is a well-known philanderer.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Huntingdon is also a ladies man, but he is more… picky and moderate than Leicester has ever been.”

“So Leicester will be in a state of hangover after the party,” Nasir deduced, apparently relieved. “He will be sleeping in the morning like a baby, and he will be unable to do anything. This is great news!”

“Leicester is already inebriated,” James reported, his sly eyes were glancing sideways at Vaisey. “He was surrounded by three whores when I left the brothel. I am sure he will bed each of them!”

Vaisey smirked. “Very good! Let Leicester have some fun with lepers tonight! I don’t mind at all! It is the only situation when I approve of entertainments with lepers.”

Everyone laughed at Vaisey’s joke. Archer’s laugh was uneasy. Guy forced himself to smile.

Archer sighed heavily. “Only Huntingdon is a threat.”

“Yes, Archie, yes!” Vaisey’s lips stretched in an evil grin, his eyes revealing a spirit of pure, unadulterated malignancy towards the situation. “Tomorrow will be the last sunrise which our fierce Lionheart and our dearest Robin Red Breast will ever see! Nobody will stop us tomorrow!”

“I want the Earl of Huntingdon dead,” James spoke in a sibilant voice.

“Sir James, you hate him so much,” Guy observed. “I noticed it when I met you last time.”

“I do hate Captain Locksley!” James bellowed as a tide of sudden fierce anger swept over him. “I have hated him since meeting him at royal court in Poitiers.” He sucked in his breath. “King Richard has always favored him beyond measure and beyond common sense! The king has spoiled him too much!” He raised his voice. “I loathe Huntingdon! I cannot wait when the lion will kill him like a common criminal!”

Archer was appalled with the amount of hatred in James’ words. “You do envy him, Sir James?”

“The king spoiled this brat and gave him everything what others never had,” James hissed, shuddering in rage. “But tomorrow the lion will have a great surprise! Huntingdon will be alone with the king who will accuse him of treason! There can be nothing better than to see the defeated Captain Locksley!”

“Your envy is not a trifle,” Archer said; he was silently outraged. “Tell me whether Huntingdon deserved what the king gave him. I have heard that he saved that the Lionheart’s life many times.”

James looked abashed. He snapped, “This braggart deserves only death! He–”

Archer cut the traitor off sharply. “I asked you this question out of mere curiosity. I just want to know whom I will be hunting at tomorrow; it is always better to know your victim and enemy.” He forced a smile, pretending that he resolved to kill Robin, which now was quite to the contrary.

Guy jeered, “Well, it seems our assassin has shown his teeth.” He wondered whether Archer played a game or not, but the other man’s words sounded so sincere.

“My dearest, gracious Lord,” Vaisey cried out in delight. “It is also my tactic! Know your enemy and be prepared in advance!” Yet, he didn’t trust Archer even more than before, but he played his game.

“Huntingdon deserves to die at least because Melek-Ric favors him,” Nasir averred.

Like Nasir, Karim hated all Christians and King Richard in particular; he would have killed everyone, even Vaisey, James, Guy, and Archer, if he could. “Melek-Ric will be dead at midday! Captain Locksley will be executed and buried in an unmarked grave as a traitor! This is what Allah dictates us to do!”

James, Nasir, and Karim left in an hour after they had canvassed the sheriff’s plan thoroughly. Vaisey was happy, waiting for the king and Robin to be delivered in the tight, withering embrace of death. Guy was somber, astounded by the depths of the sheriff’s wickedness and ruminating about his sentiments – _he wasn’t glad that his childhood nemesis and the king would die tomorrow_. Archer was pensive, his spirits low as he debated with himself whether he wanted to support the sheriff’s murderous plan.

§§§

The overpowering morning heat awakened Marian from her nightmare that haunted her since they had left England. In this dream, she and Robin stood on the decks of two ships sailing away in the opposite directions. Then Robin jumped into the sea, swimming in her direction and fighting fiercely against the waves to reach Marian’s ship. He struggled with every ounce of strength he had, but she saw him drowning in a red liquid, as if he were choking on his own blood, and then his head disappeared under the water.

Marian was trembling, and beads of sweat formed on her forehead. She reached up for her face and felt the wetness on her cheeks. She was so consumed by her nightmare that she wept in her sleep, and the pictures of Robin’s death were still playing through her mind. Marian turned to Guy’s sister: Isabella lay on the other side of the wide bed on white sheets; she looked tired, with dark circles under her eyes, for she was incapable of sleeping that night in spite of their tiredness after the turbulent journey from Cyprus.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Isabella addressed Marian.

Marian blinked. “Yes, it was not a good dream.”

“You look like a sad medusa!” Isabella exclaimed.

Marian looked down at herself. “What do you mean?”

“Your hair is spread in snakelike waves across the pillow. And you wept,” Isabella observed.

“Ah,” Marian breathed. She sat on the bed, tossing her dark curls.

“It is very hot here. I wonder how the Saracens can live in this awful climate.”

The heat was unbearable, and they could hardly breathe with full lungs. The hot rays of the morning sun shone at them through the window. Their heads were spinning from the exhaustion and from the mere thought that they were in the Holy Land, surrounded by death and bloodshed from all sides and possibly forced to face the end of their own lives at the sheriff’s hands very soon.

“The weather can also be cool and rainy in the winter and in the spring,” Marian added nonchalantly.

Isabella stared at her, amazed. “How do you know?”

Marian smiled simply, her mind drifting back to Robin. “I just know.” The only memories of the Crusade Robin had shared with her were about the weather in the land of Christ; he never spoke about the holy war.

The door flung open, and Archer entered. He carried a basket of food in his hands. Greeting the ladies, he walked over to the bed and placed the basket there; there were fresh bread and a jug of milk there. Isabella smiled at him gratefully; she heard her stomach rumbling and wolfed the food immediately. In contrast to Guy’s sister, Marian turned away, her expression – revulsion, surprise, and amusement in equal parts.

Archer directed at Marian a baffled gaze. “Lady Marian, aren’t you hungry? We don’t have exquisite food here. But if it is not to your liking, I will find something else.”

Marian gave him a wan smile. “No, thank you. I just cannot eat.”

“Well, alright,” Archer said with a sigh.

“At least they give us food.” Isabella nibbled a piece of bread contentedly, as if it didn't take more than a good crumb or two to satisfy her.

Archer looked between Marian and Isabella, his half-brother’s wife and his half-sister, his gaze focusing on Marian. He thought that Guy of Gisborne was a lucky man to be married to such a beautiful and well-bred lady like Marian. He was careful to avoid embarrassment from openly admiring other man’s wife.

Marian caught Archer’s curious, intensive gaze. She remarked that Prince John’s assassin was watching them, and she wondered why Archer seemed so reluctant to leave. Suddenly, the idea struck her precisely: she could try to persuade Archer to warn Richard about the new regicide attempt.

Archer watched Marian in silence, from time to time turning his gaze to Isabella and also smiling. Then, bowing to them, he swung around, intending to go find the sheriff.

“Master Archer,” Marian called him. “Please don’t leave.”

Archer turned around, startled. “My lady, how can I help you?”

“Don’t commit an act of treason,” Marian appealed to him, looking him in the eye.

Archer gaped at her words. “I am sorry, my lady, but I cannot grant your request.”

“Master Archer, don’t kill the king,” Marian said directly. “You are here because you were paid by Prince John. There is a lucrative opportunity for you: you may earn much more than Prince John paid you for the murder of King Richard and Robin of Locksley.”

“And how can you arrange that?” Archer grinned at her sheepishly.

Marian was stunned with Archer’s grin, so familiar and charming. “If you warn King Richard about the peril, the king will pardon you. He is generous with those who serve him well.”

Archer looked genuinely puzzled. “How do you know that?”

“Master Archer, I will vouch for you before King Richard,” Marian persisted, clinging to the only hope that wasn’t lost. “The king will surely pardon you, and he will reward you with a vast sum of money if you warn him about the danger and, hence, save his life. I promise you that.”

Archer granted Marian a skeptical look. “You are right that I do everything only for profit, and I have a contract to kill the king and Robin Hood. But even if I switch sides now, I doubt that King Richard will treat me favorably; the king is known as a cruel and vengeful man.”

Hope stirred in Marian. “Robin of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon, will help us. He will talk to the king and persuade him to pardon you. He is the king’s close friend and has a great influence on our liege,” she continued. “I will speak to the king as well. The king or Robin will pay you more than Prince John did.”

An ominous scowl darkened Archer's face. “Do you know Robin of Locksley? Why should I believe you?”

Marian prayed that she would sway Archer to the right side. “Robin and I grew up together. We were betrothed a few years ago. He will listen to me; he always does,” she elaborated. “Robin is very devoted to the king, and if you save King Richard’s life, he will be immensely grateful to you. He will get you pardoned and rewarded. I don’t doubt that Robin himself will give you everything if you save the king.”

Archer laughed ruefully, touching a purse of coins fastened to his belt. The proposal would have been tempting if he hadn’t wished to take over Robin’s lands and estates after his brother’s death. Besides, he found it amusing that one of his half-brothers had been once betrothed to Marian and then another half-brother married the same woman. “Locksley, this arrogant asshole?” he spat.

“You don’t know Robin. Don’t believe rumors you probably heard,” Marian uttered wrathfully. “Robin is a good man. He is arrogant and full of himself, but he is kind-hearted and honest. Robin is a man of honor! He will do anything to save the king and England. He will sacrifice everything he has for England and the king. He is so compassionate that he will gladly give his life for the most humble soul in the world.”

Isabella’s lips twisted into a small smile as she assessed the depths of Marian’s affection for Robin.

“You are biased towards him.” Archer was irritated that Marian was being so defensive of Robin Hood.

Marian’s face contorted in fury and frustration. She undertook the defense of Robin. “I am not biased! Robin is the king’s dearest friend! He is the captain of the private guard and our liege’s confidant! He can have whatever he wants if he only asks the king. Yet, he gave up his titles and lands to stand for justice and help the poor and downtrodden, although he didn’t have to choose this destiny. Robin couldn’t have allowed the sheriff to kill four men whom he saved from a hanging!” It was a fierce protest against Archer’s attempt to blemish Robin’s reputation, for she couldn’t allow anyone to hurl insults at the hero.

Archer scoffed. “He became Robin Hood for glory. Knowing that the king would eventually pardon him, he considered his life in the woods a mere adventure until the king’s return.”

Isabella’s face was impassive, but her eyes were icy with fury as she broke into an accusing tirade. “Yet, Sir Robin of Locksley didn’t want to assist Guy in being vindicated of the charge Bailiff Longthorn leveled against him – the murder of our parents and Sir Malcolm of Locksley. Huntingdon knew that Guy would have never deliberately caused any harm to his own parents! And yet, he did nothing and permitted the bailiff to banish us from Locksley. Sir Robin should have defended us!”

Archer maintained a discreet silence, his mind processing the scene happening before his eyes.

Marian met Isabella’s outburst by a mysterious silence. She sighed grievously, her mind centered on the truth about Guy and Robin’s old conflict she had learned a few months ago. Could Robin intercede on Guy’s behalf so that Guy and Isabella were allowed to live in Locksley? Knowing Robin’s obsession over justice, she didn’t call into question Robin’s course of action in case certain things had been different back then.

Looking at Isabella, Marian said with assurance in her voice, “Lady Isabella, the answer to the puzzle as to why Robin’s behavior on the night of the fire at Gisborne Manor might seem out-of-character for him is very simple.” Her voice rose an octave. “Robin was _a distressed and frightened child_ who lost his father that night and who probably was so shocked that he didn’t even understand what the bailiff was doing to you and Guy. I have to remind you that Robin is a few years younger than Guy!”

A discomfited silence reigned in the room. When Marian and Isabella flicked their gazes to Archer, there was an intelligent smile on his face that quickly vanished, being supplanted by a scowl.

Isabella nodded grotesquely and smirked. “He desisted from helping us!”

Marian sighed in impatience and glowered at Isabella. “Lady Isabella, has it ever occurred to you that it the events came thick and fast that night because _Robin was a heartbroken child who couldn’t stop a crowd of angry villagers and the bailiff_? What could a child, even an earl’s so, do against many angry folks?

“Maybe,” Isabella acquiesced. She admitted that she might not be doing justice to Robin. Maybe she indeed had a prejudiced opinion of Robin. “I have heard many good things about Robin Hood: people talk a lot and bards sing songs about him. I know that he saved many lives and helped people very much.”

Marian gave Isabella a bleak smile. “You are right, Isabella. Robin is a great hero!” Her eyes flew to Archer. “And you, Master Archer, want to kill the kind man who saved lives and helped the poor? You are ready to take Hood’s life after everything he did for the people?”

Archer sent Marian a chilling grin. “Prince John gave me a fortune for the deaths of King Richard and Robin Hood. And he promised to pay to me even more after our return from Acre.”

“How can you think only about money? Don’t you have a conscience?” Marian fumed. “Are you ready to betray King Richard and your country for coins? Are you ready to kill Robin Hood who would do everything to save our king and who saved many people?” She rose from the bed and stood in front of Archer, her eyes blazing with ire. “You are a despicable man! You are a traitor to your king and England!”

Archer frowned and was about to snap back at her, but then he bridled his temper and merely nodded. “You don’t know anything about me, Lady Marian. I have to be pragmatic and cold to stay alive and earn for a living. I am not like sons of nobles who have riches and privileges from birth.” He hinted at Robin.

“Everyone must have human values,” Marian expressed her main counter-argument.

Archer sighed. “My lady, you were born a noblewoman, and you don’t know what abject poverty is and how bad it might be. You may be outraged at the thought of killing the king and his favorite, but it is not my case as our backgrounds and stories are different. Don’t question my motives, for you don’t know them.”

Yet, now Archer was hesitating as to his future course of action more than ever before. The recent murder of Guy de Lusignan at Vaisey’s hands shocked him to the core, raising more questions within him, and the desire to kill Robin and take over Robin’s title and lands battled with an equally strong desire to let Robin live and learn more about the hero. Archer heard many positive things about his heroic half-brother, and his attitude to Robin was changing. But he himself had come to Prince John, offering his services to kill the king and Hood. With flagitious clarity, Archer realized that he had no one to blame but himself.

Marian raised her chin defiantly. “I pity you, Master Archer.”

“I don’t care what you think,” Archer snarled. He swiveled and exited the room.

Marian could no longer keep her emotions under control, and her face lost a façade of calmness. She clenched her fists in tight balls at her sides and sat down on the bed. “Damn him,” she cursed.

“You have feelings for Sir Robin,” Isabella declared with a hint of sarcasm.

Her affirmation instigated Marian to look at the other woman. “It is not your concern, Lady Isabella.”

Isabella shook her head. “I don’t care what you feel for Lord Huntingdon. I just voiced my observations,” she said calmly. “Let’s think of how to escape from the sheriff. He will kill us, otherwise.”

Marian smiled animatedly, and Robin’s name tumbled from her lips like a prayer. “Robin will save King Richard and all of us,” she stated confidently. “I believe in Robin of Locksley. I believe in Robin Hood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you truly enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> Well, the sheriff is finally in the Holy Land and is preparing for the regicide attempt in Acre. Some things are similar to the events in S2E13, but the framework for the regicide attempt is different.
> 
> King Richard has already signed the peace treaty with Saladin. But the sheriff knows what to do: he always has a plan, like Robin always has a good half-a-plan. I think that my Vaisey is a more cunning and resourceful man than he was on the show. Now Vaisey has the crafty plan to lure the king out of the Crusaders’ camp into the desert by pretending that the peace treaty may be revoked if Richard doesn’t agree to discuss possible changes face-to-face with Saladin.
> 
> I don’t like King Richard in S2E13. Richard was stupid enough to believe the words of the so-called Saladin’s envoy whom he hadn’t ever seen before! The king took for granted that Robin was a traitor and ordered to execute his most loyal subject only because of hearsay. I like the plotline that Robin is exposed as a traitor, and I really want to place Robin in the extreme situation when his loyalty to King Richard is being tested; yet, I don’t want to make Richard a stupid jerk as he was portrayed on the show.
> 
> I am trying to correct the flaws we had in the S2 Finale. There is an effective trap for Robin Hood and his friends, but circumstances are different as my Vaisey is more cunning than the BBC’s sheriff.
> 
> Guy and Archer are under a great pressure. As you see, both they are both hesitating as to whether they should proceed with Vaisey’s plan. The murder of Guy de Lusignan had a significant impact on them, and they are also able to see that Vaisey’s cunning, cruelty, and wickedness are immeasurable when Vaisey tells them about the plan to have Robin killed by the king.
> 
> I don't envy Guy and Archer, and I don't envy Robin either. There are also Marian and Isabella who are kept hostage by the sheriff. They are all in a terrible situation. What will each of them do? Will Guy or Archer will warn the king and stop in time? Will Marian interfere? What about Isabella?
> 
> In history, King Richard was a vengeful and temperamental man, and many of his loyal knights feared the explosion of the Angevin temper. And if the king somehow gets the fake letters proving Robin’s alleged guilt into his hands, he will go berserk with rage. Will the king order Robin’s execution? Don’t forget that Robin is not only the king’s favorite and close friend but also his half-brother in this story/novel.
> 
> There will be a great drama in the next few chapters. Chapters 6, 7, 8, and 9 are the pinnacle in part 2 of Quintessence. I ask you to be prepared: there are surprises and drama for all character. The triangle Robin/King Richard/Guy with be untangled in a grand and dramatic manner. There is a character death in chapter 7, but this person maybe a main character or a minor character. Don't worry: it won't be as bad as you can probably imagine, it will be interesting, and every twist has its purpose. Just enjoy drama.


	6. Loyalty and Treason

**Chapter 6**

**Loyalty and Treason**

The sun was high in the azure sky, and its strength was so ferocious that the sand itself shimmered and sparkled in the sunlight. A silence reigned in the Crusaders’ camp in the morning hours as the majority of the king’s men were still sleeping after the night of dissipation and farewell party in one of the finest brothels in the south of Acre. Not many Crusaders were awake, and some of those who didn’t sleep were still in an alcoholic haze and were unable to fight; the king wasn’t protected well now.

Robert de Beaumont wasn't in the king’s camp; by the end of the night, he had been so inebriated that he had been carried to the Citadel of Acre by his comrades. Carter of Stretton, Roger de Tosny, Aubrey de Vere, and a handful of other guards hadn’t drunk much at the party, thinking that it was not a time for relaxation despite the achieved peace in the Holy Land; Edmund of Cranfield hadn’t attended the party. Robin of Locksley wasn't in the camp either because he spent the night with Melisende in Acre.

In the spacious royal tent, there were King Richard, Edmund, Carter, and the uninvited Saracen envoy. King Richard was reading Saladin’s urgent message, and everyone waited for the king's speech in a tense silence. The messenger had arrived unexpectedly, showed Saladin’s personal seal, and requested an audience with the king. After he had told Edmund the correct password, he had been admitted to the king.

A stunned Richard the Lionheart threw the parchment away. Anger replaced his initial surprise. His hands on his hips, he bent his head until his face was very close to the messenger’s. “Why does Saladin want to revoke the peace treaty? Why is he going back on his word?”

Nasir shook his head. “My sultan is not canceling the treaty yet, but he can do that.”

The king sighed heavily. “Oh?”

Nasir continued, “My sultan says that he will cancel the peace treaty if you refuse to discuss certain issues with him in person. He is prepared to talk, but only face-to-face.”

The king’s eyes flickered to Carter and Edmund, who were as shocked as Richard himself was. He regretted that Robin and Robert were not there and he couldn’t consult with them.

“Saladin himself will come?” Richard asked.

Nasir gave a nod. “My Sultan agrees to meet with you, man to man, alone in the desert.”

Richard sighed. “Where?”

“Outside Imuiz, the town ruined by your Crusaders,” Nasir replied.

“When?” the lion questioned.

“Today at noon,” Nasir said.

King Richard regarded Carter and Edmund, hesitating with the answer.

“My liege, is this wise?” Carter inquired with a note of apprehension in his voice.

“Sire, it sounds strange,” Edmund noticed.

Nasir feigned regret. “Saladin knew it. You don’t want to make any concessions to us, and, in this case, he will abrogate the treaty.” He stepped aside, ready to leave.

The king thought for a moment. “Wait.” As the messenger turned around, he spoke resolutely. “We will be there. We will discuss everything in person.”

Carter’s face fell in both disbelief and amazement. “Sire, please consider other options. Let’s delay our departure and send our messenger to Saladin to arrange an official round of negotiations.”

“My lord, let’s wait for Robin. He will return from Acre soon,” Edmund exhorted.

“No,” the king said dismissively. “Robin may come back in the afternoon.”

Nasir smiled at the sound of Robin’s name. “Sire, my master offers you a gift as a sign of his goodwill.”

The lion arched a quizzical brow. “What gift?”

“A gift of life,” Nasir proclaimed emphatically, looking at Carter and Edmund, his gaze indicating that he wanted them to be dismissed.

“Leave us,” Richard commanded.

Edmund heaved a sigh, Carter said nothing. Both of them reluctantly obeyed.

Nasir stepped closer to face the king. “There are men in your country who want to kill you.”

The king took a step forward. He shook his head, laughing softly. “Thank you, but we already know about the Black Knights. Everything else is out of Saladin’s business.”

“They know that you know. That is why they recruited two of your most loyal men to kill you.”

A deep frown marred Richard’s forehead. “Who are they?”

Nasir repeated what Vaisey had told him to tell the king to convince the Lionheart of Robin’s treason.  “They are men whom you would trust with your life. One of them is already here, in your entourage. The other may come here anytime and offer to protect you. Later, when the suitable moment comes and your guard is down, one of them will slit your throat.”

A bewildered Richard asked, “Really?”

“Yes, my king.”

“Do you know the names? Do you have proof of your words?” Richard demanded harshly. “We won’t tolerate unsubstantiated accusations towards the people we trust and towards anyone in our entourage.”

The messenger sneered at the lion’s last words. Then he removed the parchment from one of his pockets, the document that Vaisey had given him yesterday. “Take this. You will learn who betrayed you then.”

Richard took two parchments in his hands. As his eyes fell on the seal – the Earl of Huntingdon’s seal, he shuddered inwardly, feeling a cold shiver running down his spine. He broke the seal and unrolled the first parchment; he then looked through the letter. The blood drained from his face at the recognition of Robin’s handwriting and signature which he knew so well. Then he broke the seal on the second parchment, unfolded it, and read the letter. He discovered that the second letter was also written by Robin.

The two parchments contained Robin’s secret letters to Roger de Lacy, the lion’s another beloved and loyal knight. In these letters, Robin wrote that nothing had changed in his relationship with the king despite his rebellion against Prince John in England, and, hence, he could gather intelligence for the Black Knights, aiding them to organize a new assassination attempt on King Richard’s life. In the same letter, Robin pledged that he would regularly inform de Lacy about the progress of the peace negotiations and the king’s plans to leave Acre. In this way, they would be able to design an effective plan to get rid of Richard.

The king cast a suspicious glance at the messenger. “Who gave you these parchments?”

Nasir proceeded to his tale that he knew by heart after having rehearsed it multiple times yesterday. “You allied yourself with the Hashashin. On the same day, Sultan Saladin and Grand Master of the Assassins pledged to inform each another about all existing and possible dangers for your and Saladin’s lives. My sultan kept his word.” He trailed off. “By chance, we intercepted the messenger who carried this parchment. We didn’t know who wrote it, and so we broke the seal; then we saw what was planned for you.”

“We will be in the desert, in Imuiz. Now leave,” Richard barked.

Nasir bowed. “My sultan is sorry if the news displeased you, but your life was in danger.”

Richard gritted his teeth. “Get out.”

A delighted Nasir left; he was pleased that the seeds of doubt had been planted in the King of England’s heart. Edmund and Carter entered the king’s tent, looking worriedly at the king who threw away one of the parchments and began to pace the tent back and forth. His face turned white with rage, and he felt blood throbbing in his temples. He had never ever been so angry; he was overwhelmed with black fury.

Richard stopped, his mind trying to refute the idea that Robin was playing such a cruel game with him. He didn’t want to believe that Robin was a traitor, but the parchment was sealed by Huntingdon’s seal and was also signed by Robin. The lion’s heart collapsed at the thought that even his dear and ever-loyal Robin, his half-brother and his mother’s golden boy, had betrayed him. The revelation drove him to the verge of insanity. He didn't know what to think of Robin and what to do with his beloved knight.

“My liege, are you alright?” Edmund inquired cautiously.

“We are fine!” Richard roared. “Look at what the messenger gave us.”

Edmund leaned down and took the parchment from the ground. He looked through the text, and a look of shock spread over his face. “No it cannot be true,” he said, shaking his head.

Carter also read the letter, his face evolving into incredulity. “No, no, no,” he murmured.

“It is the proof of Robin’s vile treachery!” The king pointed at the parchment in Carter’s hand. “We don’t even need to investigate because we can see that these are Robin’s seal and handwriting.”

“Indeed,” Edmund agreed.

Carter blanched. “I cannot believe that. It must be a mistake.”

In the next moment, Sir James of Lambton appeared at the entrance. He bowed respectfully to the king, watching the lion’s nervousness from the corner of his eye.

“James, what do you need?” Richard asked rudely.

“My liege, I have heard that Saladin’s messenger was here,” James of Lambton began humbly.

Richard sighed heavily. “Saladin may revoke the peace treaty if we don’t agree to reconsider several terms. Thus, we are meeting with him in the desert at midday.”

James gaped at the lion’s statement. “Oh, it will be awful if the treaty is canceled!”

The king turned to Edmund. “Edmund, arrest the Earl of Huntingdon as soon as he arrives in the camp from Acre. Then take him to me, in shackles.”

Edmund gasped for air. “But sire, we need to–”

Richard cut him off sharply, his Angevin temper flaring up to hellish proportions. “We don’t care what you think. If we need your advice, we will ask you,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “Arrest all of the people whom Lord Huntingdon brought from England. If Sir Roger de Lacy comes here, detain him, too.”

“I… of course,” Edmund sputtered, turning deathly pale.

“Leave!” the lion‘s imperative voice boomed.   

Edmund and Carter gave the king grim glances. They bowed to their liege and hurried to obey, fearing the explosion of the lion’s temper and thinking of the horrible news about Robin of Locksley and Roger de Lacy. James also bowed and exited the king’s tent, smiling to himself at the thought that the sheriff’s plan was working and Robin, whom he hated fiercely for so long, would be dead soon.

Robin returned to the Crusaders' camp from Acre in an elated mood after spending a passionate night with his wife. He was annoyed that he was always accompanied by ten guards, but he no longer left the camp alone and unprotected in order to avoid provoking Richard's anger. Robin dismounted and gave the reins to a young guard. He walked in the camp, and five guards momentarily surrounded him.

“Your hands, Robin,” Aubrey de Vere, the Earl of Oxford said, not looking at his captain.

Robin sniggered. “Is it a joke?”

“You are under arrest,” Roger de Tosny informed coldly.

“And what grounds?” a confused Robin wanted to know.

“High treason,” de Vere responded. “King Richard ordered your arrest.”

With a little smirk on his face, Robin theatrically bowed his head. “Then let me surrender to you and give you my scimitar.” He grinned widely. “It is a very good day for jesting.”

Taking the curved sword from Robin’s hands, de Tosny handed it to one of the guards. “If I were in your shoes, Robin, I wouldn’t have flashed your cheeky grins. What you have done is unbelievable and very low.”

“Well, I don’t know what I could do to be accused of treason,” Robin parried.

Robin allowed the guards to chain his wrists, swallowing his humiliation and wrath. Under a heavy guard, he was led through the camp to the king’s tent. The king’s men watched Robin grimly, their eyes full of shock and disbelief at the sight of the shackled king’s captain.

As they reached the royal tent, Robin saw Much and Little John who stood in the circle of the soldiers, their hands shackled, their expressions shifting from bewilderment to dread at the sight of a shackled Robin. Robin opened his mouth to speak, but in the next moment, he was pulled into the king’s tent.

Robin was forced to his knees in front of King Richard; he inclined his head in submission. He managed to notice four people in the tent – Richard, Edmund, Carter, and James. Instinctively feeling the truculent glances of an incensed Richard at himself, he began to realize that it was very far from a joke as he had suspected at first. That frightened him so much that Robin opened his mouth to ask why he had been apprehended, but the unspoken words died in his throat.

“Robin,” the king began grimly.

Robin raised his head and stared at the king, his cheeks flushing a shade of rose in agitation. “My liege, with all due respect, I have to say that I don’t appreciate such a bad joke.”

Holding the parchment in his hands, Richard approached Robin. “On the contrary, I have never been more serious, my dear Robin,” he hissed with venomous sarcasm. He was so irate that he didn’t f0llow the royal protocol in the presence of others. “Lift him from his knees.”

Edmund and Carter grabbed Robin’s arms gently and helped him to his feet. Their captain flashed them a radiant smile of gratitude for the respectful treatment. Edmund cast a strange glance at Robin, his eyes full of disbelief; Carter heaved a sigh.

Richard looked disappointed. “Oh, Robin. How could you do that?”

Robin was at a loss for words. “What happened?”

“You betrayed me, Robin.” The king ate up the distance between them in two huge strides.

Robin gasped, and his eyes widened in shock. Anger tinged the monarch’s aura, as well as something else Robin couldn't quite decipher; maybe it was pain and disappointment, or perhaps even hatred. “I beg your pardon, my liege. I don’t understand you.”

“How could you betray me, Robin?” Richard demanded incredulously.

“Sire, I didn’t betray you.” Robin was perplexed.

The king drew a deep, agonizing breath. “No, you did. I was wrong about choosing friends who turned out to be my enemies. Of all the men who have served me, you were the one I loved and trusted the most. I didn’t expect that you would stoop so low as to conspire to kill me.”

“What?” Robin’s expression turned shocked.

Richard tossed his head as if he disbelieved his own still existing doubts. “When I sent you home to England, I did that to protect you, Robin. I thought that you shouldn’t have risked your life anymore after being almost fatally wounded in the regicide attempt. I thought that I was sending away a piece of me; I thought that you would represent me there.” He paused, sighing in frustration. “Instead, you returned to Nottingham, defied the law, and ran to Sherwood Forest, playing a role of the great fighter for the poor and downtrodden. In reality, you were bought by the Black Knights and hatched a plot to murder your king.”

Deeply shocked, Robin shook his head, holding the king’s gaze. “You are wrong.”

Richard shot him a murderous glare. “Robin, stop pretending. I know the truth!”

“What do you know, my lord? You are in grave danger from the Black Knights, not me!” Robin cried out, disrespectfully, but he had to defend himself. “I have always been loyal to you!”

“And what will you say about these letters?” Richard brought the two parchments to Robin’s eyes to let his captain read them. “Will you still deny the fact of your treason?”

Robin lifted his eyes and boldly glanced at the king. “I deny,” he declared, his heartbeat accelerating to a panicky rhythm. “Sire, I have never seen these letters. I have never plotted to murder you.”

In a voice woven of sheer disdain and deep reprehension, the king continued his verbal assault, “You are a consummate actor, Robin. All your vows and promises are worthless.” His voice rose an octave.  “The letters are written in your handwriting and are stamped with your seal. Is that right?”

Robin swallowed painfully. “The handwriting… and the seal… are similar to mine. But I swear on all I hold dear that I didn’t write these letters to Roger de Lacy. I am sure that Roger is also loyal to you.”

The lion flashed a fulminating look. “Now I understand why our reconnaissance gave us nothing.” He smiled grimly. “Of course, you cannot find the spy. It is really ironic that you set traps for that spy and complained to me that they didn’t work.”

Robin insisted, “I have never betrayed you, my lord.”

But Richard’s didn’t hear him. “Your own traps couldn’t have trapped the spy because you are the spy!”

“You are mistaken, sire,” Robin flung back.

With something between a growl and an exasperated sigh, Richard rushed to Robin. He grabbed the younger man’s shoulders and stared into his eyes ferociously. “ _How could you betray me?_ ” he whispered to prevent the others from hearing them. “ _I loved you so much. I thought that you… are my only brother who deserves my love and trust_.” His voice turned lower, vibrating in his chest. “And you betrayed me. You even dared swear your fealty to me on the day when we signed the peace treaty and I told you the truth.”

Robin felt his blood freeze in his veins. “I didn’t betray you.” He held his breath, his heart pounding.

His heart tearing apart in pain, Richard released Robin and stepped aside. Glowering at his captain, he asked, “Do you know that I can execute you for what you did?”

Robin smiled sadly. “Sire, you can execute me; you are my lord and sovereign, and it is your right. Only remember my words that my loyalty to you has always been unwavering. I am innocent!”

“I could kill you for your treason!” the king raged. His favorite’s stubborn denial enraged him even more.

“Then, order my death, my lord,” Robin challenged, his eyes flashing with disappointment mingled with ire. “It might be considered treason to defend myself. And I have been doing that in the past few minutes.”

For a moment, Richard looked as if he were about to draw his sword and strike Robin, for his hand was on the hilt of his weapon. But he simply turned away. “Nobody and nothing could make me so angry, Robin. Only you succeeded.” He seemed to not take notice of Robin’s painful expression before Robin’s face turned blank. “Your betrayal and cowardice to make a confession don’t make you look honorable at all.”

“Sire, hasn’t it occurred to you that I may have nothing to confess?” Robin remarked sarcastically.

“Stop lying, Robin!” Richard fumed.

“Sire, maybe we are wrong,” Edmund interjected.

“My liege, I don’t believe that Robin betrayed you. We must investigate,” Carter put in, his voice firm and loud. “I can vouch for Robin. When I was in England–”

“Quiet, Edmund and Carter,” the lion silenced them. “Everything is clear. Robin is a traitor, and we have the proof of his treasonous deeds. There is no need to investigate.”

“What should we do with this foul traitor and his accomplices, my liege?” James questioned.

The lion gazed away. “Assemble the men and execute everyone, except for the Earl of Huntingdon.”

“But… Huntingdon is a traitor…” James didn’t like what he heard, for it could ruin their plans.

“Silence!” Richard’s voice boomed. “Our orders are not discussed. Huntingdon will live.”

“As you wish, sire,” James muttered.

Carter and Edmund stared at the king in profound shock, stemming from both the accusations of betrayal and the sudden pardon. Carter didn’t believe that Robin was a traitor. Edmund doubted the accusation, but he hesitated. What astonished them was the king’s decision to spare Robin’s life.

The king looked at his half-brother from across the tent; there was a dangerous light in his eyes. “We pardon the Earl of Huntingdon as we remember his services to us, for nobody can deny that he saved our life many times, although he schemed behind our back. He won’t be stripped of his titles and estates, but he will remain our prisoner. Heavily guarded, he will be delivered to Aquitaine and will be held at our beloved mother’s court under house arrest until we decide otherwise.”

“For the love of heaven, sire! Release my friends!” Robin begged. “They are innocent!”

The king’s eyes met Robin’s. “This cannot be done. They are traitors. I can pardon only you, Robin.”

Robin smiled, knowingly and ironically; the king was unable to step over the blood they shared through Eleanor of Aquitaine. “My lord, what should I do to atone for my transgressions and sins?”

“Robin, don’t test my patience,” the lion growled savagely between strong, white teeth.

Listening to the conversation between Robin and King Richard, Carter and Edmund feared that the king would kill Robin on the spot, with his own sword, for the lion was outraged and distressed beyond measure. There was only one man who could pacify the king’s wrath – the Earl of Leicester; he could even persuade the king to cancel the execution. But the king’s second grand favorite wasn’t there. Carter and Edmund admired Robin’s boldness, also condemning him for his foolish recklessness and disrespectful behavior towards the king; they were relieved and amazed that Robin was still alive after his speech.

At the same time, the group of four people appeared near the entrance to the camp. It included Roger de Lacy, Allan, Will, and Djaq, each of them out of breath after running through the desert from the walls of Acre. De Lacy and Allan had arrived in Acre only a few hours ago and immediately had hurried to Bassam’s house, for they had needed to know where the king’s camp was in case the Crusaders had moved on. Will and Djaq accompanied Allan and de Lacy, wishing to assist Robin in stopping the sheriff and Gisborne.

“I must see King Richard! Now! Now!” Roger de Lacy announced, struggling to catch his breath.

“Your password?” one of the young guards asked.

“ _Thesaurus Patriae_ ,” Allan responded, winking at de Lacy who winked back at him.

De Tosny approached the newcomers. “Roger de Lacy,” he greeted, sighing frustratingly. “The password is correct. You can go to King Richard,” he permitted with another deep sigh.

De Lacy ran as fast as his legs carried him, the others trailing behind him. The grave silence in the camp puzzled them. The king’s men looked curiously at de Lacy, whispering something and backing away from them. They paused near the royal tent as Richard stepped outside and stared at them with eyes blazing with anger. The king’s appearance bespoke anger and disappointment, and everyone noticed that.

Roger de Lacy dropped to one knee, his head bowed. “My liege, I bring grave news.”

“And you too, Roger,” King Richard spoke sorrowfully. “I have loved you so much.”

De Lacy jerked his head up in astonishment, but he didn’t ask anything. He spoke about what they had on the agenda – to protect the king from Vaisey and the Black Knights. “Sire, Gods be blessed that you are alive! The Sheriff of Nottingham and the Black Knights are plotting against you. Now the sheriff is coming here to kill you. They should have already arrived in Acre.”

“The sheriff is very cunning. He is planning to murder you,” Allan joined the conversation.

“Seriously?” The king released a deep sigh.

“Sire, you have to let us protect you,” de Lacy enunciated.

“Oh, Roger, why did you do that?” the king drawled, his gaze sliding to Edmund. “Arrest them.”

De Lacy looked dismayed and confused. “My lord, what is going on? We have come here to save you.” He didn’t say anything else as James of Lambton knocked him out with his broadsword. De Lacy’s limp body tumbled to the sand, and the guards hurried to tie his wrists.

Shocked and dumbfounded, Allan shared with Will and Djaq uneasy glances. Then they turned their gazes and noticed Much and Little John who were chained and surrounded by the king’s men.

“Mercy, Your Majesty! _Ut prosim_!” Much entreated.

“Silence before the king!” James screeched, and slapped Much hard across his cheek.

Robin wrenched out of Edmund’s grip, stumbling and almost falling as he stepped out of the tent. He was surprised when his legs didn't fail him because he was almost giddy with nervousness. His gaze embraced the picture of his surrounded friends, and he flicked his gaze to King Richard. “My liege, I swear by all that is holy that these people are innocent. If you must take a life, take mine; but spare them,” he beseeched, looking into the king’s eyes, his own eyes shining with a desperate plea.

The king scoffed. “At last. That’s the Robin I remember – a man who considers others.”

“He is still the Robin you remember,” Djaq interposed, shocked to see a shackled Robin.

Robin continued to plead with the king, “I saved your life, my liege! Don’t you remember that? Don’t I have the right to ask you to spare someone’s life?” His voice rose an octave. “Spare these people.”

The lion shook his head, his gaze piercing Robin’s face. His heart was weighed down by the grief he felt because of Robin’s alleged treason; it was also difficult for him to order the execution of Robin’s friends. But his anger was blinding and all-consuming. “We cannot grant your wish, Robin. We won’t take your life, and that’s enough; the others must be punished.” He stilled for a moment and sighed. “But you accomplished many feats for England and for the Lord here, in Acre, on the Crusade. You risked your life for us many times, and you saved us several times. We have not forgotten what you have done for us.”

Robin’s heart began to pound harder. “Sire, please–”

Richard interrupted Robin. “Let us finish, Robin! We will make you a gift: we won’t take their lives.” He ran his eyes over the traitors. “We will let the desert decide.”

Much began to shiver in fear. “The desert? Well, what does that mean? Decide what?”

“No, I hate the desert. I already feel like a corpse,” Allan moaned.

The corner of Djaq’s mouth curved in a waspish smile. “Your protest means nothing.”

“What are they gonna do to us?” Allan inquired, his eyes focused on the king’s large figure.

“Oh, my God! It is madness,” Will lamented.

One of the guards unceremoniously pushed Much ahead, motioning to move towards the exit from the Crusaders’ camp. Much intercepted Robin’s dolorific gaze, in which the innocent captain put all his devotion to his former manservant, together with unspoken farewell words. Much realized what the king meant: they would die in the desert from the heat and thirst, like Richard had done to some of the prisoners in the past.

There was a stir of quick movement all around. In a few moments, the guards began to drag the victims of the king’s mistake out of the king’s camp. Allan and Will stumbled and fell, but they were pulled back to their feet. Much shot two guards who grabbed him a hateful glare, and one of them punched him in the face. Roger de Lacy was still unconscious, his weight fully supported by James and another guard. Only Little John and Djaq remained calm, as if they had resigned to death, their eyes downcast.

“How splendid, my lord,” Robin said with undisguised sarcasm. “You are correct that your choice of punishment for me actually does make it worse to live than to die. You are one of the most cunning and ruthless men I have ever met in my life. You know that I hate when innocents die.”

The king threw him a scornful glare. “Robin, you know why I didn’t order your death. I am letting you live only because of her: she would have never forgiven me if I executed you on any charge,” he said quietly. “Your punishment will be the guilt for the deaths of your friends you will carry until your death.”

“Thank you, sire. Thank you for your most benevolent act of mercy,” Robin retorted acidly. “I am entirely helplessness! I cannot save my innocent friends, and that makes me feel absolutely worthless.”

“Take him away. See to it that he is treated respectfully,” the lion ordered.

Robin lingered his gaze on the King of England, his half-brother and his beloved friend, whom he loved wholeheartedly in spite of the greatest mistake Richard had committed today. Robin felt someone’s hand on his shoulder; turning to his captors, he stared at Roger de Tosny who was frowning at him and glaring at him contemptuously. Aubrey de Vere urged Robin to go, his eyes full of shocked disbelief and cold disdain. His captors were surprisingly gentle with Robin as they led him to his tent, but their icy glares Robin caught at himself made him shiver like a cold wind prickling every hair on his skin.

Something tightened in Robin’s chest at the thought that the king had chosen not to believe him. Richard believed he was a traitor, and that awoke the powerful emotions of pain and heartache in Robin. Kings also made mistakes, Robin persuaded himself, and he could resign to that. But Richard was also his brother, and somehow his blood ties to the king seemed much more important than the bonds of their friendship.

Disappointment and pain filled Robin’s at the memory of Richard’s words – the deaths of his friends would be his punishment for his treason. He knew that Richard was a cruel, capricious, and vengeful man, but he had thought that his liege could ever view him as a traitor. And yet, he could understand why that happened – Robin himself saw the fake letters written in the handwriting that was so similar to his; he also saw the Earl of Huntingdon’s personal seal. It was the plot against him, and there was only one man who could have designed Robin’s downfall so proficiently – he was Sheriff Peter Vaisey of Nottingham.

Despite Richard’s cruel decision and his accusations, Robin didn’t point a finger of blame at his liege. It was Vaisey’s entire fault, not King Richard’s fault, he mused. Undoubtedly, Vaisey had planned everything in advance! Now Robin had to do something to save the king and his friends. He prayed that he would have a chance to do that because now only God could help him.

§§§

Marian turned to the window and looked out, her eyes taking in the vast expanse of the pale yellow dunes. She had dreaded the moment of their arrival in the Holy Land, to the place that could easily become a grave for King Richard, Robin, herself, and anyone else. She wondered how men could fight in this death-filled land for years, wondering whether they had been bewitched by the enigmatic and monotonous sands.

“Where is Guy?” Marian pronounced aloud, but to herself.

Isabella glanced at her companion with amusement. “Talking to yourself?”

“It seems so.”

The door shot open, and Guy stumbled into the room. He was clad in black leather despite the heat. His eyes were blazing like night fires, and there was a look of fury on his handsome face.

A baleful Guy paused near the bed and stared at Isabella, neglecting to look at Marian. “Damn you, Isabella! You are a married woman. Be decent and don’t tempt this assassin!” he grouched.

Fear crept up along Isabella’s spine. “Guy, have you gone mad?”

"Don’t play games with me, Isabella.” His eyes narrowed. "I know why Archer is coming here. He comes to you because you are seducing him. You also tell him bad things about me to make him pity you.”

“Guy, you are as crazy as your master!” Isabella cried out, her eyes narrowing.  “Archer is an assassin, but he is a gallant man and doesn’t treat women as badly as you do. He comes to us either to bring us food or to ask whether we need something.”

“Isabella, I prohibit you from talking to Archer,” Guy hissed. “It also concerns you, Marian.”

“Guy, you are incorrect,” Marian said absent-mindedly.

“I prohibit!” he bellowed.

“You can prohibit us nothing, Guy of Gisborne,” Isabella fired back. “Go to your master and lick his boots for his favor. You are incapable of doing anything else well.”

Guy paled as rage swept through him. He came to Isabella and wanted to strike her, but Marian held his hand back. "This is unthinkable," Marian interjected. "What insanity has seized you?”

Guy shook his head, reality claiming him again. “I am sorry.”

Holding Guy’s arm, Marian glanced into her husband’s stormy eyes. “Guy, don’t kill the king. You are a decent man. This is... your last chance to be a good man.”

He pushed her away and stalked to the door. Before opening it, he turned around and looked at Marian, his eyes cold, his expression hard. “Robin Hood’s life is forfeit. Nothing can be changed now.”

A shocked Marian grimaced in abhorrence at the sound of his cynical and hateful voice. Her shock crystallized into ire, hard and sharp as a knife blade. “What?” she uttered at last.

Guy nodded. A blank look settled over his face. “Nothing can be changed,” he repeated.

“You cannot mean that.” Marian shook her head in disbelief.

Gisborne sent his wife a look that would have felled a lesser woman. Marian merely stared back, which served to increase his ire. “I mean precisely what you heard.”

“My Lord!” Marian crossed herself.

“I am sorry, Marian.” There was undisguised regret in his eyes, which surprised Marian.

“Ha!” Marian snorted in derision. “You think that a simple apology is enough to justify your actions, Guy? Do you really possess such a huge insolence that you can apologize for killing the king and Robin as if you were apologizing not for treason and a murder, but for not giving me a gift?”

Guy came to Marian and put his hands on her shoulders. “Marian, you have no right to tell me anything! You trapped us by your foolish actions in Nottingham when you made an attempt on Vaisey’s life!”

Marian scoffed. “And what else should I do when you wanted to kill our liege? I had to stop you!”

Guy bent his head and whispered into Marian’s ear, “I told you that I don’t want to kill the king. For whatever reason, I don’t even want to kill Hood.”

Isabella smiled. She didn’t hear them, but she suspected what they were discussing.

“Kill the sheriff,” Marian appealed to him.

Gisborne sighed. "I have to kill the king to save you and Isabella," he murmured into her ear. "I cannot kill Vaisey because you are guarded by the nine highly trained mercenaries who will kill me and then slash your and Isabella’s throats if I try to escape with you after the sheriff’s death."

Guy drew back from Marian, looking into her eyes. He hoped to see a sign of understanding into her sapphire blue eyes, but instead he saw only black rage.

“I understand you, but I am fed up with your arguments,” Marian said aloud, this time not whispering but speaking in a loud, clear voice. “Remember my words: if you do something bad to the king or Robin, I will never forgive you for that.”

Guy took a step back, his expression grim; he didn’t expect to hear something like that from Marian. “Even if you never forgive me, at least you will be alive and safe.”

“Don’t be astonished, Guy,” Marian said coldly. “I myself would gladly die for the king and England.”

“You won’t die, Marian. I will protect you,” he assured his wife.

Isabella smiled ironically. “Brother, you have been so good at protecting us since we had left England.”

Gisborne ignored Isabella. “I will protect you,” he reiterated.

“But even if you protect me or us, someone else may die,” Marian spoke apprehensively.

“Better someone else than you,” Guy parried. Then he went out of the room. His heart craved to stop this madness and the sheriff, but there was no way he could make amends now.

Marian was silent for a while. “What did they do?”

Isabella shrugged. “Sheriff Vaisey is the Lucifer. He can do everything.”

Marian stared at Guy’s sister in woeful despair. She didn’t wish to think that everything was lost. She couldn’t admit that Guy had failed her and that Robin was dead. Her ebullience faded into despair, and she sighed heavily, as if it could help her feel better. She looked at the window from where she could see the sky and the sun that was like a huge conflagration. She began to pray fervently to the Lord and the Mother of God, begging them to intercede on behalf of King Richard and Robin. She wished she knew how she could save the king and Robin, but she seemed to have no options.

Marian and Isabella didn’t spend much time together during their journey as Guy had tried to keep Marian close to himself, while Isabella had spent time in Archer’s company. Now they were in the same room and lay shackled on the same bed, both of them at Vaisey’s mercy. Uncertainty gnawed at both of them, like water eroding away a stone, making the waiting period agonizingly long.

“Why did you marry my brother?” Isabella asked Marian. “He is a monster. He lets Vaisey treat you, his own wife, so despicably, as if you were nothing to him.”

“I had my own reasons for marrying Guy,” Marian replied, not intending to share her thoughts with Guy’s sister, for she instinctively didn’t trust her.

“Wasn’t Robin a better choice?” Isabella persisted.

Marian sighed. At the words about Robin, her cheeks flushed with excitement that she was unable to hide. “Why does it matter, Lady Isabella?”

Isabella's brows flew upward. “Hostility to me overwhelms you.”

“You are wrong.”

“I am right,” Isabella parried. “You are a brilliant actress, but not as good as you think.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Isabella chuckled. “You play a role of a proper, good wife in Guy’s presence. Yet, you still fail to conceal your excitement when Robin’s name is mentioned by the sheriff and Guy.” She reached up to brush the hair back from his temple with her fingers. “It happens very rarely, but when the sheriff is discussing Robin Hood’s death, your eyes betray your true thoughts and feelings before turning blank.”

Marian’s expression was hard and unrelenting. “You are wrong,” she repeated.

“Come on, Lady Marian,” Isabella said. “I am an observant woman. You feign your indifference to Robin of Locksley. You don’t want him dead, unlike the sheriff and my brother.”

“Indeed, I don’t want Robin dead,” Marian acknowledged. “And I don’t want the king dead either.”

“Well, I believe that you feel something for Robin.”

Marian felt anger boiling in her veins. “Lady Isabella, I am married to Guy, your brother. I am a decent woman, and I am not going to discuss another man with you.”

Isabella reached out for Marian’s hand and took it in her own. “I am not your enemy.”

“I hope so.”

“We should be less formal. After all, we are relatives, and I have known you since childhood.”

“I don’t mind,” Marian conceded.

“I asked you about Robin because I was astonished that you had married Guy. I remember Robin and you in childhood, before Guy and I were banished from Locksley. You and Robin were always together; you followed him everywhere; you enjoyed and laughed at his incredible tricks and pranks.” She glanced into Marian’s eyes. “And I am worried about your fate because I don’t think that you are happy with my brother. I know how cruel Guy can be to people.”

Marian scrutinized Isabella, wondering whether she was sincere. “My betrothal to Robin was broken a long time ago. I returned his ring to him when Robin went to fight in the Holy Land.” She averted her eyes. “When Robin returned, many things changed: we both changed and he was declared an outlaw.”

“Robin is no longer an outlaw, and Guy has nothing.”

“Yes, King Richard pardoned Robin,” Marian whispered.

“Well, you are definitely interested in his fate.”

"Well, whoever Robin is – a mighty earl or a righteous outlaw, I feel only a sympathy for him," Marian said firmly, her face devoid of emotions. “He is a human being, and I don’t want him dead.”

Isabella snickered. “Oh, I don’t believe you. Pretend in front of Guy, but not me.”

Marian withdrew her hand from Isabella’s. “Isabella, you are talking nonsense.”

The older lady continued, “I have to say that I don’t like Robin a lot as he is partly responsible for our banishment. Thanks to Robin, we starved in Normandy for many years.”

“I know this story. Guy told me everything.”

Isabella’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Really?”

“Yes,” Marian confirmed.

“Do you know what Guy did to me?” Isabella asked suddenly. “He didn’t care about my fate after I was forced to marry Squire Thornton in Angers. He was very cruel to me, and he felt no remorse.”

“Guy informed me that he had arranged a marriage for you because he didn’t have enough money to support you. I believe he didn’t want to part with you, but he wished to give you a chance for a better life.”

“A better life?” Isabella blustered, her heart drumming in her chest, like an army was marching through her chest, at the memory of her sadistic husband. “Can you call a life with an immoral beast a better life? Do you suppose that I was happy with a man who humiliated and beat me for years and capable of killing me?”

Marian looked abashed. “Oh my God! I am sorry that you had to live through hell.”

Isabella looked angry. “Guy wasn’t sorry when he married me off to Squire Thornton, Vaisey’s distant cousin by the way.” Her expression evolved into fury. “He sold me for money, like a slave on the market, and then forgot about me. I am his sister, his only living relative, but he still got rid of me!”

“I understand your anger, Isabella, but I think that Guy didn’t know about your husband’s cruelty.”

“Guy could write me at least once, but he shunned me out of his life,” Isabella complained. “All the men are worthless and cruel bastards. Women have to be obedient and sweet with them, bear their children, and satisfy their carnal needs, while they give orders, spend money, go to wars to get their damned glory, sleep with their wives to plant their seed into them and sleep around for sheer pleasure.”

“I agree with you, but only partly.” Marian had always thought that women were unfairly considered inferior to men in the society. They shared an understanding and a sense of solidarity on the matter. “But not all men are pitiless and vile. There are decent and honest men too.”

Isabella laughed recklessly. “I don’t think so.”

Meanwhile, Guy exited the house. Outside, the sheriff and Archer were waiting for their Turkish allies to arrive. They stood in an oppressing silence for several minutes, Guy and Archer gazing somewhere into the sandy dunes and Vaisey’s eyes darting between the two young men. As they spotted Nasir and Karim in the distance, Vaisey sniggered and started humming under his breath.

“Happiness?” The sheriff grinned maliciously.

“Almost happiness,” Nasir replied sadly.

Vaisey pursed his lips. “Why? Did the king consent? Will he attend the meeting?”

Nasir nodded. “Mm-hm.”

“Where is Robin Hood?” Vaisey inquired.

Nasir shook his head. “Oh, Captain Locksley…”

The sheriff grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Oh, tell me something good! Did daddy punish Hood, eh?”

“We have a problem,” Nasir reported sadly.

“What?” Vaisey’s voice sounded impatient.

“King Richard ordered to execute every traitor, even Roger de Lacy, but not Robin of Locksley,” Nasir informed. “Our spy, James, said that the Lionheart was furious, but he only ordered to detain his captain.”

Vaisey shot his accomplice an incredulous look. Guy and Archer stared at Nasir, nonplussed.

“Are you kidding me, Nasir?” Vaisey questioned.

“No, it is true,” Nasir assured him. He told them what he had learned from James.

“This is not what I want! Damn Robin Hood! Why does he always come out of trouble?” Vaisey gritted his teeth. “But will James deal with Hood?”

“The king had Robin of Locksley arrested,” Nasir pointed out. “James hates Locksley, and he is going to kill his captain in the dead of night today.”

“Prince John won’t be pleased if Robin Hood dies,” Archer remarked.

The sheriff rolled his eyes. “Archy, are you stupid? You came here to kill the king and Hood, but you seem to… hesitate. You are becoming weak, like Gisborne.”

“I just brought an important issue to your attention,” Archer shot back.

Guy eyed Archer. “I have known that you are a braggart since I saw you in Portsmouth.”

“Oh, I may show you what I can do if you wish that,” Archer threatened.

Vaisey smiled. “Stop, boys. We have more important deals on the agenda. Don’t argue and spoil my today’s fun.” He hugged Nasir, then looked at Karim. “So, Karim, my dear boy, you know what to do.”

Karim looked alarmed. “What if King Richard knows how Saladin looks like?”

“It matters not. You are not stopping for a chat with the king, are you, huh?” Vaisey eased the man’s fear.

Karim nodded. “Of course, we won’t drink wine with him.”

The sheriff let out an unpleasant laugh, his jeweled tooth gleaming in his mouth. He motioned them to go, and the Saracens nodded obediently.

Vaisey came to Guy and patted his shoulder. “Gisborne, there is something I must do. Go with them.”

“Yes, my lord,” Guy obeyed, unwillingly following Nasir, Karim, and Archer. He didn’t see that the sheriff watched him leave with a perfidious look on his face.

A villainous plan was forming in his mind as Vaisey sauntered to Marian and Isabella’s room. He opened the wooden door and entered, looking at the two women who were exhausted with the unbearable heat and constant worry. Today was the day of his ultimate triumph, and he wanted to see the defeated lion and the two dead tigresses that were grating on his nerves since their departure from Nottingham. Hood could wait, he decided; yet, his gut feeling told him that Robin would grant all of them a surprise today.

“Good chickens,” the sheriff drawled. He stopped near Marian who stood near the window. “I owe you a debt of gratitude, young lady.” He tossed the drumstick at her, hitting her in the buttocks. “Thanks to you, I know that Guy is loyal. If you failed to turn him against me, then nobody can do this.”

Marian glowered at him. “What?”

Vaisey smiled venomously. “On the ship, I overheard that you, my little missy, demanded that Gizzy kill me. And he refused!” His smile widened. “But Gisborne still needs a lesson.”

Marian paled; her heartbeat quickened. Her face was stony, but her heart and soul were mired in unutterable despair and immeasurable hurt. “Your heart... must be the coldest place on earth.”

“And what now?” Isabella was frightened, although her face didn’t betray her emotional tumult.

“And now we have served our purpose,” Marian finished for Vaisey.

“No!” Isabella put a hand on her mouth, her face twisting in horror. “You won’t dare murder us!”

Vaisey smiled at Guy’s sister maliciously. “Oh, believe me, I will dare, my leper ladies.” His gaze flew to Marian. “Missy, you tried to kill me! Do you think I am going to forgive you? Never ever!”

“I know,” Marian said briefly, thinking that Guy was an utter fool.

“You cannot kill us! You cannot!” Isabella screamed in rage, jumping from the bed like a panther. “You don’t know what will happen to you if I don’t return alive to England.”

“Enough.” The sheriff came to Isabella, surveying her with interest and smiling at her. “You are beautiful, my leper. But Gizzy needs a lesson… to become a stronger and crueler man.” He outstretched his arms. “I want Guy to be the boy I met him in Normandy. He was hateful, cruel, decisive, and vengeful, with a firm hand that chopped off heads, hands, and fingers and killed anyone at my order.” His arms went to his sides. “Gisborne was a cutthroat thug who could do anything for me.” He pointed at Marian. “But you, my dear Lady Marian, bewitched the old Gisborne and took him away from me. I will never forgive you for that!”

“Spare Isabella,” Marian demanded in a hollow voice.

The sheriff scowled. “No, I cannot do that for you, my beauty. I want my erstwhile Gisborne back! You both can take his loyalty from me; I don’t tolerate divided loyalties, and that’s why you must die.” He leaned forward, and wrapped his arm around Isabella’s throat. “Gizzy’s sister, dear God! I am sorry, my blue-eyed leper, but I want Guy to be so overwhelmed with pain and grief that he will revert to the old ways!”

Isabella’s eyes glittered with danger. “My death means your own death warrant.”

“A sharp-toothed tigress, with much venom in blood,” Vaisey commented. “What a pity you have to die!”

“You will go to hell,” Marian hissed in a voice laced with implacable hatred.

Vaisey released Isabella and leveled his glare at Marian. “Only after your death, missy, if hell exists in the afterlife. You can depart from this world together with Robin Hood’s friends in the desert.”

Marian and Isabella exchanged shocked glances.

The door flung open, and Vaisey’s French mercenaries and a middle-aged Crusader came inside. The mercenaries freed them from their shackles; then they tied their wrists with coarse ropes, roughly pushing the woman towards the door and not losing a chance to molest the ladies.

As they were already on the front steps of the house, Isabella asked, “Where are we going?”

“You will learn, very soon. Be patient,” Vaisey replied nonchalantly.

Isabella began struggling with her captors. “Let go of me! Let go of me!”

“What a spirited lass!” James of Lambton assessed, admiration shining in his eyes.

“She is a leper, James,” the sheriff remarked. “Lepers are not worthy of men’s attention.”

James burst out laughing. “I don’t agree with you, Lord Vaisey. After spending so many years in the Holy Land, any Christian woman seems pretty to be your bedmate if she is slender and not ugly.”

Isabella screwed up in disgust. Marian huffed in anger and gazed away. The mercenaries giggled.

“Lepers bring only problems. I prefer power over them,” Vaisey voiced what was the law in his whole life.

“A wise choice,” James assented.

At the same time, the innocent traitors were tied up to the poles in the desert. The sun blazed down at the king’s victims savagely. Everyone went very still, barely able to breathe in the hot air. They prayed for a miracle, hoping that Robin would somehow escape and rescue them. But there was no sign that someone was coming, and a lethal fog was slowly enveloping them.

Allan swept his eyes over the long row of the prisoners. “Yeah, I would rather stay in Nottingham and die there than in this hell-hole.”

“I would love to see King Richard now. I missed him in England,” Roger de Lacy purred in a voice woven of jarring sweetness and heartfelt nostalgia. Having regained his consciousness half an hour ago, he had to face the horrendous truth – he would die a pointless and shameful death of a traitor after he, together with Allan, had hastily traveled across the world to save the king from the sheriff.

Allan frowned. “Are you gonna say that the king is not guilty?”

“It is the sheriff’s fault,” de Lacy stated with formidable conviction. “Anyway, you must be content and proud that you are dying for your king and for England, even if you are not there.”

Allan rolled his eyes in irritation; de Lacy was as staunchly loyal to the king as Robin. “Hey, Roger, I am not being funny, but it is the King of England who put us here. Why are you saying that?”

“Don’t blame our king,” de Lacy reiterated insistently. “The sheriff circumvented everyone! His insidious scheme besmirched Robin’s reputation and doomed us. I should have murdered this hellspawn in England.”

Djaq giggled. “Like Robin.”

“Yeah, Robin… Only he can save us,” Much spoke ruefully.

“If he manages to escape,” Will added.

“Robin will save us! He will flee and come here! Don’t lose hope! I believe in Robin!” Much twittered enthusiastically. “Robin is like a little bird. He always returns to his home. We are his home.”

De Lacy was skeptical. “I am not so sure.”

“Why? Do you doubt Robin?” Will inquired.

“Robin must be well guarded,” de Lacy explained. “Perhaps, he was incapacitated as well.”

“And we will die?” Allan asked in half a whisper.

“Who knows?” De Lacy ‘s voice was so pessimistic that it was clear he didn’t hold out hope to survive.

Tears came to Will’s eyes, and the young carpenter lamented, “I am sorry, my love. I should have made you stay with Bassam when Allan and Sir Roger came.”

Djaq swallowed a lump forming in her lower throat. “I would have never left you, Will Scarlett.”

Much gazed into the distance, as if searching for Robin. “We just have time until nightfall, you know.”

Little John drew a deep breath. “Then what?”

“Then... it will be cooler,” Much clarified.

Allan let out a small laugh. “Cooler? It will be freezing.”

Much’s face fell. “I know. But it won’t be hot. This heat...”

“Much, we don’t have till nightfall,” Djaq contradicted.

Suddenly, Much saw an apparition of two women in the distance. He lifted his head, trying to focus his vision on the female figures; then he noticed that there were several horses riding towards him.

“I can see something!” Much shouted. “Someone is coming!”

The others stared at the silhouettes, appealing to them. They didn’t want to reconcile with the fact that nothing could save them. Only de Lacy was quiet, skeptical about the possibility of salvation.

“Much is right,” Allan agreed.

“Over here!” Djaq shrilled.

“Help! Help!” they cried out together.

“They have seen us!” Much was overjoyed.

Djaq laughed felicitously. “God is smiling on us!”

“Or Allah!” Will backed up his bride.

Staring at the horsemen behind the women, Allan groaned in despair as he recognized the sheriff riding towards them on a white stallion. “Devil is laughing at us! This is the sheriff!”

A look of utter despair came over Much’s face. “There is no God.”

The sheriff laughed malevolently at the sight of Robin Hood’s gang and friends tied up to the poles as common criminals. They stopped near the prisoners and dismounted. Then James cut Isabella and Marian’s ties to the saddles and pushing them ahead. Vaisey’s French mercenaries were not with them, for the sheriff didn’t wish them to take part in the regicide and later use the knowledge about it against him.

A leering Vaisey taunted, “See, that’s the trouble with foreign travel. You run into all the same people that you see at home.” He pushed Isabella around the pole to de Lacy’s back.

Isabella stared at de Lacy in astonishment. “Monsieur de Lacy?”

De Lacy smiled enchantingly. “At your service, my lady.”

“You are revolting,” Much spat.

Vaisey’s laugh boomed portentously in the air. “No, I am just... a clever man,” he objected. “I am only plotting a sudden and decisive change of the leader.” He took off a glove, his fingers stroking the hot metal of the ring with the insignia of the Black Knights. “Oh, well, you see, I will soon see the king wandering out into the desert alone, unarmed, ready to meet his enemy, and then... England will have a new ruler.”

“Foul Traitor! Traitor!” Much screwed up his face, looking at James.

“Get off me,” Marian grumbled as James tied her to the opposite side of Much’s pole.

“I see that your friend, your dear Robin Hood, deserted you.” An insolent grin stretched across Vaisey’s face. “Where is our pretty goodie-doer? Why is he not here with his… outlaw friends?”

John reminded, “We are not outlaws anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter, my darlings. You are traitors in the king’s eyes.” The sheriff laughed. “I understand you have met my colleague, Sir James of Lambton.”

James saluted them and snickered. Then he raised his left hand in the air. “We meet again.” He opened his palm, revealing the sheriff’s ring that he wore on his middle finger. “Captain Locksley is a fool! He failed to figure out that I am the spy he was looking so zealously throughout the past few months!”

Much regarded James with disgust. “James, you let the Black Knights buy you.”

“I work for myself and for those who may help me amass wealth and power,” James answered.

“James, you are a rat,” Roger de Lacy snarled.

James laughed noxiously. “I am ecstatic to see you dying here, Roger de Lacy. It is a huge pity that your friend, Robin of Locksley, is not here. But he will be dead soon, I promise.”

“Vaisey, your hours are numbered,” Marian menaced in a low contemptuous growl. “Guy will kill you.”

The sheriff grinned fiendishly. “Only if he learns what really happened to you, my leper friend.” He lifted his head to the heavens, blinking against the glare of the scorching sun. “Oh, blah-di-blah-di-blah, I would love to stay, but I don’t tan well. Do excuse us, for we have the king to kill. Come along, James.”

§§§

Robin was placed in his own tent; he was guarded by several Crusaders, one of whom remained inside the tent and five stood outside. His imprisonment was comfortable: the Crusaders didn’t dare treat him disrespectfully as the king had pardoned him for the alleged treason. His hands were bound in the front, giving him some mobility to move, and his legs were not shackled, to his great delight.

Robin lay on a large wooden bed, covered with white silk sheets up. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of the misfortunes that had befallen him today. Robin couldn't suppress the icy chill of dread that caused him to internally shudder despite himself. He couldn’t bear the thought that his innocent friends would die because of the sheriff’s plot. Fury and hatred filled him to the core; he hated Vaisey with every fibre of his being. His heart was beating so wildly that he had to force himself to think calmly.

His mind in turmoil, but he was endeavoring to arrange his thoughts to invent a feasible plan of escape from the camp and a plan for the rescue of his friends. However, he was disarmed, his scimitar and a curved dagger had been taken away after his arrest. Two more daggers he had kept in his tent and Much’s weapons had been confiscated as well. Somehow he had to unlock the shackles, but he needed a dagger, a brooch, or another sharp tool to accomplish that. His mind raced, searching for a solution. He tentatively touched the shackles, his fingers assessing the complexity of the locking mechanism.

The thought that he had Marian’s sapphire brooch in the tent struck him, and it was his saving grace. It was the same brooch that she had given him on the day of his capture in Nottingham after he had been just outlawed and the sheriff had planned to hang him. It also was his gift to Marian that he had given her seven years ago when he had courted her before his first departure to the Holy Land.

Robin smiled languidly as the image of Marian flickered in his mind. The brooch was one of the very few mementos of Marian and their love story he still possessed, another one being the sapphire engagement ring, not the one he had given her over a fresh grave in the forest, but the old ring, silver and simple in its design, that he had gifted to her when he had proposed to her before the Crusade.

Robin opened his eyes, Roger de Tosny’s flaming head coming into the picture in the opposite part of the tent. He had to somehow outwit Roger. “Where is King Richard?”

“Why do you care, Robin?” Roger de Tosny asked in a voiced laced with hostility.

“I care for him. I don’t want him dead.”

“Don’t lie to me, you traitor,” Roger growled scornfully. “I have seen your letter to Roger de Lacy.”

Looking at Roger’s face contorted in rage, Robin felt anger rise in the pit of his stomach. How could his own men from the private guard believe that he was a traitor after the years of my loyal service to the king? With effort, he took his churning emotions under control. “It is a fake letter,” he asserted.

“Why did you betray the king?” Roger confronted Robin. His voice was edged with hurt and anger; he resented his captain, but he still found it difficult to believe in Robin’s treason. “You were one of the best warriors who could vie in your valor, bravery, foolhardiness, and God-gifted fighting skills only with the king himself, Robert de Beaumont, and a few others. The king loved you more than anyone else, but you repaid him by committing treason against him.”

“I didn’t do that,” Robin affirmed.

A tense silence stretched between them. Before the silence could become too awkward and unbearable, there was a welcome interruption from de Tosny.

Roger shook his head. “I thought that you are a good man, but you are no better than Gisborne.”

“Well, you may think whatever you want.”

"The king forgave you. No one knows why he was so lenient towards you and didn’t even strip you of all the titles,” Roger continued indignantly. “The king should have ordered your public execution." The man was so furious with his captain that he would have probably strangled Robin himself if the lion hadn’t commanded to take care of his disgraced favorite.

Anger again took the upper hand, and at that very moment, Robin’s expression was almost savage before turning impassive in a split second. “Maybe you will shut up, Roger,” he snapped.

“Gladly,” the other man responded with obvious relief.

“It is so warm here,” Robin spoke after a short pause.

De Tosny leaped to his feet and came to Robin. He regarded the younger man suspiciously. “What can I do for you?”

Robin complained, “I am as hot as the sand under the midday sun.”

“What do you want?” De Tosny looked confused.

“Take the sheet away from me. Don’t I deserve at least some comfort?”

“No, you don’t mean that, Robin. I am not your servant.”

Robin grinned brashly. “I mean exactly what you heard, Roger. King Richard ordered you to treat me respectfully. As you took Much from me, and my squire Lionel is not allowed to see me, you must serve me.”

“Do you really like being so insolent?”

Robin knew that his only way out was to play a game, acting like a spoiled aristocrat who was insulted by those inferior to him. He had to inveigle Roger to come to the bed. He feigned anger and fumed, “How dare you talk to me this way? Have you forgotten who I am? I am captain of the private guard! I am the Earl of Huntingdon and Count de Bordeaux! I am married to King Richard’s cousin! I swear that you will answer to me! I will inform King Richard that you humiliated me and disregarded your king’s orders!”

Annoyed by Robin’s theatrics, Roger de Tosny rolled his eyes, thinking that Robin was just a brat spoiled by royal favor and the people’s love. "A moment, Robin,” he conceded.

De Tosny stepped forward and paused near the bed. Roger leaned down to take the sheet, and Robin suddenly pulled his comrade to himself, wrapping his arms around the other man’s back. In a few moments, Robin’s hand found a dagger on the Crusader’s belt. With a swift movement of his hand, Robin raised the weapon and rested the blade against Roger’s neck.

“Shhh,” Robin murmured, smiling morbidly at Roger.

Their eyes locked, Robin’s eyes twinkling with mischief and Roger’s emanating fury.

The red of anger tinged Roger’s sun-darkened features. “I should have forestalled that you would do something.”

“I am a thief,” Robin reminded, smiling impishly. “My movements are agile and barely noticeable.”

“You won’t be pardoned again, Robin.”

“Oh, believe me, I will.”

“Bloody traitor,” Roger hurled an insult at his captain.

There was sadness in Robin’s eyes. “I am not a traitor.” He clenched his fist, still holding the blade at Roger’s neck. “I am sorry. I don’t want to hurt you, but I must.” Then he slammed his fist into Roger’s face, rendering the man unconscious.

Pulling Roger’s body from his own, Robin moved on the bed and let Roger fall from the bed. He eyed his unconscious comrade and released a sigh of regret. He swiftly climbed out of his bed and crouched, his hands fumbling for Marian’s brooch under the feather mattress. Robin’s heart began to beat faster in exultation as he felt the hot metal against his fingers – he found the brooch. He retrieved it and started working on the lock. He smiled slightly as the lock clicked and the shackles tumbled to the floor. He slid Marian’s brooch into the pocket of his trousers, thinking that it might be useful later.

Robin bounced to his feet. His eyes darted between the entrance to his tent and Roger’s body on the floor, the quiet voice in the back of his head reminding him of his urgent mission. Having no time to look for his own scimitar and his bow, he grabbed de Tosny’s broadsword and fastened two daggers to his jeweled belt set with unusual resplendent gems; the belt was Richard’s gift to him on his wedding to Melisende.

Robin walked on tiptoes to the back of the tent and bent down to slice the rough material with the sword, cutting a small hole in the canvas side of the tent. He stormed out, crouched, and started crawling over the sand. He scrupulously scanned the area ahead, determined to take the shortest escape route. Soon he was already in the opposite part of the Crusaders’ camp. It seemed that he had fled unnoticed, and Robin raised his eyes to the cerulean canvas, feeling a foudroyant joy inundate him.

Suddenly, Robin felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Fearful of the worst, he turned to Carter’s grinning face and Edmund’s serious face. He blinked, for the vision of the two familiar faces didn’t vanish. He had been discovered and would probably be apprehended again!

“Oh,” Robin gasped, a chill running down his back.

Carter grinned. “Yeah, Robin Hood can escape any trap, cannot he?”

“Well, I suppose so,” Robin replied in a quiet tone.

“Are you alright?” Edmund asked Robin with concern.

Robin looked like a frightened child. “Yes, I am. What now?”

Carter chuckled. “Now we have the king to save.”

Robin frowned. “Where is the king?”

Edmund sniffed and wiped away the beads of sweat from his forehead with his fingers. “King Richard is a desperate man. He went to the desert to meet with Saladin and discuss the peace treaty.”

Robin’s expression changed into horror, the bloody pictures of Richard’s murder creeping into his mind. “It is the sheriff’s plot. He is going to kill Richard.”

“And we will save the king and our friends,” Carter said with a reassuring smile.

Robin recovered his confidence. “Yes, we will rescue them.”

Carter handed to Robin his scimitar and his bow, with a full quiver of arrows. “For you, my friend.”

Robin smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

Robin, Carter, and Edmund crawled towards the border of the camp, staying flat on the sand as Crusaders walked past the area where they were hiding.  They managed to leave the camp undetected.

As Robin noticed several horses waiting for them in the back of the camp, he realized that Carter and Edmund had planned to free him, going against the king’s instructions and, thus, believing Robin. Warmth filled his heart at the thought that not everyone considered him a traitor in spite of the king’s words. Yet, the pleasant sensation was supplanted by the pain that brought him back to his senses and reminded him that Richard was the main reason of the troubles which had befallen his friends.

§§§

The innocent traitors were sizzling under the ferocious, blazing sun. They were sweaty, thirsty, and exhausted, and their skin seemed to be afire, seemingly hotter than the sandy dunes. They didn’t fall unconscious yet, trying to concentrate and think, but the heat had already taken its toll on them: their vision was blurred, their heads spinning, their mouths dry; their minds were dulled, their perception deteriorated. Every minute seemed to be longer than an eternity as they waited for death to claim them.

“I am going to have a heart attack,” Isabella of Gisborne complained.

Roger de Lacy smirked. “A heatstroke,” he corrected.

Isabella lowered her chin. “It doesn’t matter. They are the same sort of thing.”

“Hmm,” de Lacy snarled. “I can imagine how bad you feel in the desert after residing at Prince John’s court and warming his bed every night.”

“What?”

“What are you doing here?” de Lacy demanded. As they were tied to the same pole, they heard each other rather well, while others had to strain their ears to overhear their conversation.

“The sheriff kidnapped me,” Isabella enlightened.

“I think that you needed to come here,” de Lacy assumed.

“You think that I am out of my mind, sire?” Isabella defended herself.

“You are Prince John’s whore. He sent you here.” De Lacy didn’t care that he was very rude.

“You are a cad, Monsieur de Lacy.” Isabella shuddered; then she let out a quiet laugh trying to relax.

Marian and Much were tied up to the same pole, and each of them felt uncomfortable not only due to the heat. Knowing how deeply hurt Robin was due to her betrayal, Much loathed Marian for her decision to break her betrothal to Robin and marry Guy of Gisborne. Marian felt like a cat in a strange garret as she knew that all the former outlaws and particularly Much fiercely disapproved of her marriage to Guy, questioning her loyalty to Robin and the cause.

“Much,” Marian called him.

“What?” Much reacted, lowering his chin down and shutting his eyes.

“How has Robin been doing here?” she asked, feeling a tiny hammer on her heart.

Much gaped at her question. “Robin is alright, not in the desert as we are.”

“I mean Robin’s marriage,” she clarified.

Much was amazed that she had learned about it. “Robin is a lucky man. Lady Melisende is King Richard’s cousin. She is beautiful, clever, and kind. I like and respect her.”

Marian felt a stab of jealousy in her proud heart. “I am glad.”

“This is the best what he could have after your betrayal,” Much castigated her.

“Much, I didn’t want… to hurt Robin. I thought that it would be for the better…” Marian's voice was thick with emotion, and she almost choked on the last words.

“It is in the past,” Much said in a formal voice. “Robin likes his wife. She likes him. They are a stunning couple. You should forget about him.”

“I wish Robin only all the best,” Marian chocked out.

Much muttered something about Gisborne in a hateful voice, and Marian winced inwardly. She shut her eyes as the bright sunlight blinded her and aggravated the throbbing pain in her head. It was considerate enough of Much to answer her questions about Robin; it could even be a sign that Much, her childhood friend, still had some fondness towards her. She wished Much to understand her and be friends with him again, but she doubted that the man would ever be able to overcome his resentment her.

Allan was taking deep and shallow breathes with his mouth. “We are gonna be burnt here alive.”

Will sighed. “I thought that Robin would come.”

Djaq closed her eyes, her head spinning. “If he didn’t find us, then it means that he couldn’t escape.”

“Robin would have never abandoned us,” John agreed.

“I am bathing in sweat. This is terrible,” Isabella lamented.

“It may be worse,” Djaq added. “It is the expense of being in the Holy Land.”

“King Richard may be already dead,” Allan said.

“Damn the sheriff! May he go to hell,” Roger de Lacy cursed.

“I believe that Robin will save us,” Marian asserted.

“I would love to think so, but I don’t hope for that,” de Lacy opined.

“Don’t lose hope,” Marian prompted. “Something good will come out of this.”

Allan, Will, Djaq, Isabella, and Marian were looking into the distance, their eyes wrinkled to slits against the severity of the sun. Everyone was plunging into abysmal despair. Much started sobbing quietly, and no one reproached him for the lack of self-control. The last vestiges of hope were dying in them.

“Much, dying an honorable death is better than living a coward's life,” Marian claimed.

“I know! And I am not… crying…” Much muttered.

“He is not crying. He is laughing on the wrong side of his face,” a familiar voice spoke.

“Carter!” Much cried out in joy.

Everyone laughed as a feeling of relief washed over them. Carter was approaching them, with Edmund and Robin walking next to him. They had several horses, with full water flasks hanging from the saddles. Robin and Edmund also carried flasks.

“We thought that you had left us!” Much reproached them.

Carter cut Little John’s ropes. “Sorry. Out here you can lose your head.” He handed a knife to John and walked round to Allan. “It is very hot today.”

“I was a little… tied up myself,” Robin spoke as he cut Much’s ropes, staring incredulously at Marian and not comprehending how she had ended up in the desert with his friends.

“But you fled,” Much inferred.

“I did, but it wasn’t very easy,” Robin replied.

“Yeah, we are free,” Allan said happily.

Robin bowed to Marian, deeply and elegantly. “It is fortuitous to find you here, Lady Gisborne! I hope you are doing well after having a little rendezvous with the sun in the desert,” he said in a mocking lilt, punctuating the comment with a smug smile, teasing imps dancing in his pale blue eyes.

Marian looked distressed for a moment, but she swiftly reigned in her emotions, and blankness settled over her face. Robin, her Robin, who had been rejected by her, now stood in front of her, grinning at her insolently and mocking her. They met under the most unexpected circumstances she could ever imagine – in a land of death and destruction, in Acre. _Robin had saved her life from Vaisey today!_ The man in front of her was the old Robin, but now all was different: Robin of Locksley was not only her former betrothed, whose heart she had broken, but also a married man; not an outlaw anymore but the king’s loyal servant.

Marian studied Robin’s face closely. At first glance, Robin was as handsome as ever, and, of course, he was dashing, arrogant, conceited, and smug as well. Did he recover from the pain she had caused him, or did he need to recover from it? Marian found Robin looking unusual in a white Crusader tunic, his usually pale skin exhibiting a slight brown color; she also noticed that his sandy-colored hair turned a shade lighter.

Yet, Marian knew that Robin was greatly affected by their meeting. The tightening of his jaw proved that he was emotionally moved to see her after a long separation. She closed her eyes for an instant and drew a deep breath, listening to her racing heart and letting herself regain her composure. When she looked at him again, her emotions began to push to the surface – amazement, fear, anxiety, longing, joy, and happiness.  Her ego couldn't help but inflate at the realization that she still had power over him. And a voice deep in Marian’s heart decried that her old love for Robin didn’t die despite being forbidden and impossible – they both were married and, hence, couldn’t even dream of each other.

Marian held Robin’s gaze; her knees were trembling. “I am well, thanks to you and your friends. I owe you my life, Lord Huntingdon,” she stated formally.

Robin let out a cocky smile. “I have to say that it is not the best idea for a married lady to travel to the Holy Land only to find herself tied up in the desert.” His voice sounded chilly.

Marian gave Robin a hard glare, wishing to wipe away that holier-than-thou smile from his face. "It is not what I wanted to do. It is what I was compelled to do.”

Robin looked interested. “What happened?”

“I tried to kill the sheriff in order to stop him before he could make a new regicide attempt,” Marian informed, raising her chin high.

Robin shrugged. “Well, sometimes ladies do something to have adventures they don’t need to have. At times, even most intelligent women act on impulse, without thinking of the possible consequences. That’s why I shouldn’t be astonished; and yet, I am.”

“You must cease this teasing of yours because it matters not, Lord Huntingdon,” Marian countered.

Robin beamed at Marian his heart-winning smile that would have warmed Marian’s heart if she weren’t so irritated by his conceited behavior. “Lady Marian, it is common sense, not teasing. I know that you possess a great strength of will, and all the things you did in England attest to this. However, I must say that I have never thought that you may be so foolhardy and so reckless that you resolved to embark on the mission that was almost certainly doomed to failure from the beginning. Thank be to God that there was still time to save your life here, in Acre.” Then, not sparing even a quick glance at her, he stalked to de Lacy.

Insulted by Robin’s comments, Marian looked at his back with the sickening feeling that he was laughing at her abilities to kill the sheriff and save the king. Robin was enjoying himself as he spoke to her. She was furious at him at the moment, and yet she couldn’t deny that there was truth in his words – she had already begun to doubt that her decision to kill the sheriff was the smartest one in the realm of possible options.

“We found Robin on the outskirts of the camp,” Edmund said as he finished untying Will and Djaq, who smiled gratefully at him. “We planned to release him, but he was faster and managed to free himself.”

“Of course, he was faster because he is Robin!” Much praised his most beloved friend.

“Much! Please!” Robin burst out in feigned displeasure, but he flashed a bright smile. He cut de Lacy’s ropes and then released Isabella. “Yeah, there are a lot of interesting things in my head.”

“Robin, your head is precious,” Roger de Lacy said with a rich chuckle. He scooped their savior into his arms. He told Robin as he drew back, “Thank you, my friend. You saved our lives.”

“You are welcome, Roger,” Robin responded affectionately, patting de Lacy’s back.

De Lacy laughed. “Robin, Edmund, Carter, have I ever told you how much I love each of you? Now I love all of you more than ever!” For a moment, he dropped his gaze as if in embarrassment.

“Roger, you rarely speak about love,” Carter pointed out.

Edmund grinned at de Lacy’s fake embarrassment. “Maybe Roger is losing his wits and charms after the many years spent in the Holy Land.”

Robin’s face changed into amazement at the sight of de Lacy tying up Isabella’s wrists. “Roger, why are you so treating this lady so discourteously?”

“I don’t trust Lady Isabella of Gisborne,” de Lacy pronounced. “I will explain everything in a minute.”

An amazed Robin regarded Isabella curiously. He was dumbfounded to see Marian in Acre, thinking that Gisborne must have lost his mind if he had taken his wife with him, even if she had really tried to kill Vaisey. But the fact that Isabella of Gisborne also was in the desert confused him even more. He couldn't know that Isabella had arrived in Nottingham after his departure to Acre.

Robin let out a small smile. “Well, we have many surprises today.”

Isabella rewarded Robin with a dazzling smile. “You have changed, Robin of Locksley.”

Isabella of Gisborne licked her lips. She had extremely improper thoughts about Robin of Locksley. Her lips parted, her body nearly swaying towards Robin’s lithe form a little at the sight of his charming smile and his sparkling blue eyes. She was stunned that Robin was such an attractive man who made her able to suddenly fall into a pleasurable fit of passion and desire; nobody, not even Prince John, had ever had such an effect on her. She could imagine Robin’s slender body naked in bed, moonlight streaming into the room, and she coveted to trace the firm musculature of his back and shoulders. She wanted Robin as a man.

“And so have you, Lady Isabella of Gisborne.” Robin glanced over her well-curved figure and rested his eyes on her lovely features, thinking that she was a beautiful woman, yet sly and definitely not innocent.

Isabella stared into Robin’s blue eyes. “You are not disappointed to meet me, Lord Huntingdon?” Her gaze slid down his face to his mouth and then back to his eyes.

The young captain laughed light-heartedly. “Desert spells are so dangerous. They may render anyone in a state when they are unable to feel anything, especially bitterness and disappointment.”

“I am most honored to be saved by you, Lord Huntingdon. So few people can withstand these desert spells.” Isabella’s voice was husky, as if she were whispering endearments into her lover’s ear.

“Your speech is too flattering, my lady,” Robin threw over his shoulder. His gallantry precluded him from saying that her speeches were too sweet to take them without a pinch of salt. He glanced between Marian and Isabella. “Well, frankly speaking, I am truly amazed to find Guy of Gisborne’s wife and his sister in the Holy Land and all the more in the desert.” He sniggered. “Yeah, that is incredible!”

Marian strode forward and stopped next to Robin. “As I have just said, I tried to kill the sheriff, and Lady Isabella was an unfortunate witness. As a result, Vaisey took us hostage in Nottingham.”

“A lifetime of no adventure is boring! You have just had such a wonderful date with ancient gods of the primeval desert!” Robin teased, his features unreadable, but his gaze proved that he had no more questions about Marian’s appearance in Acre.

“There are always adventures everywhere,” de Lacy spoke as he passed by Marian and paused next to Robin. He winked at Robin who winked back at him. His gaze oscillating between Robin and Marian, he broke into witty tirade again. “The only question in life is whether or not you are going to answer a hearty yes to a new adventure. Life is such a voyage of discovery that is sustained by faith in God and by the hope that Robin Hood, England’s greatest hero, provides the world with!”

Everyone broke into a light laugh that released the accumulated tension.

Robin laughed outright. “Life itself is an adventure if we allow it to be.”

Marian's brow twitched in annoyance. "I find nothing amusing in a near-death experience in the desert."

Robin laughed, his eyes twinkling. “You shouldn’t think so! If you die in your warm bed, like a proper lady should, you will miss all the fun. Dying tied up to the poles is not convenient, but any inconvenience is rightly considered a sort of fun. Dying in the desert is an awfully big adventure.”

Marian smiled at him. “Well, I am not astonished to hear that, Lord Robin. After all, intolerable and mischievous men always court danger.”

Robin grinned daringly at her. He decided to address her in the same infuriatingly formal manner. “Yeah, you are so generous with your compliments, Lady Marian.” He laughed breezily. “Oh, I know, I am intolerable! What a nasty, disturbing, and obnoxious creature I am!”

Marian shook her head, a smile hovering over her lips. Robin was so intolerable and yet so charming! There was the sweet and yet dangerous venom in his hot, adventurous blood, and his dry humor was entertaining and pleasant to ears, though at times annoying; his witty comments and quibbles could crawl under anyone’s skin. His arrogance and vanity were on full display for all to see, and yet many swooning women and idolizing men loved these features immeasurably. His compassionate and altruistic nature was a real treasure, while his ability to give without demanding anything in return was unlimited. All these features shaped his devilish charm that enthralled many women. Robin was the most infuriating, most noble-hearted, and most irresistible man Marian had ever met. This man was unique – he was just Robin.

Marian knew that Robin was different from Guy. While she always felt a thrill of danger being with Guy, she often missed the lightness and safety which were in the air about Robin. She was greatly attracted to Guy’s dark handsomeness and his lethal charms, but her husband lacked Robin’s light, captivating charm and she missed that charm so much, presently enjoying Robin’s cheeky smiles and manners. She missed Robin’s wit that was rarely present in her conversations with Guy. She was very happy to see Robin again, and her heart was aching in her chest as _he wasn’t her Robin anymore_.

Carter burst into laughing. “When I joined the king’s private guard, I heard that not only Saracens can kill a man. Everyone claimed that Captain Locksley may shoot a witty arrow at anyone, doing it cleanly, through the heart and rewarding his victim with an immediate death." He smiled. “But if Captain Locksley wants mischief, he may choose to massacre anyone with his witty arrows, prolonging the sufferings.”

Marian smiled slightly. “His tongue is very poisonous.”

“Sweet and poisonous at the same time,” Robin put in, grinning sheepishly.

“Robin is an outrageously bold man and a man of sharp wit and vigorous life,” Djaq spoke adoringly. Will, who stood beside Djaq, dipped her head in agreement.

“His wittiness is as sharp as a sword,” Edmund remarked with a smile.

Isabella eyed Robin from top to toe and found herself utterly charmed. The brilliance of her smile was directed at Robin. “Nevertheless, there must be someone whom Huntingdon can never shoot with his sarcastic arrows." She had already seen the impudent and cheeky look on his face a long while ago – on the face of a boy whom she remembered very well since childhood.

Carter chuckled. "Robin may challenge and even mock King Richard. Robin Fitzooth and Robert de Beaumont are the only two men who dare taunt and tease the king, of course, if our liege is in a good mood.”

De Lacy tightened the ropes on Isabella’s wrists, causing her to whimper at this rough handling. “I am a bold and brave man, but I am fearful of teasing our king.” He lapsed into silence and sighed; his gaze drifted to Isabella. “Don’t be offended, Lady Isabella. You came here for an unknown reason, and you are getting what you deserved – an exciting adventure under the scorching sun.”

Staring pleadingly into Roger’s eyes, Isabella begged, “Please release me, Lord de Lacy! I promise to be good and obedient!” Her lips lengthened in an enticing smile that touched even her eyes. With her hands bound behind her back, she couldn’t reach her captor, but she could use her charms on him.

“I am sorry, my lady, but I cannot grant your wish,” de Lacy answered in a matter-of-fact way. He swept his eyes over his friends and then explained, “Lady Isabella is Prince John’s mistress, and she can also be his spy. Who knows why she came here and what game she is playing?”

Marian gasped in shock. “Prince John’s mistress?”

“Yes, she seems to be true,” de Lacy confirmed.

“His mind has been addled by the sun!” Isabella protested. “I was kidnapped by the Sheriff!”

“Quiet, my lady!” Roger de Lacy shook Guy’s sister slightly. “Your pleas will change nothing.”

Edmund distributed the flasks of water, and everyone drank water which the Crusaders brought.

Carter approached Robin and declared, “We have horses. We have weapons.”

Robin clapped Carter on the shoulder. “And we have King Richard to save.”

“We should hurry up,” Edmund prompted.

“Wait!” Much cried out. “Come on. We are Robin Hood.”

“We are Robin Hood,” Little John said proudly.

“What?” A deep frown creased Isabella’s forehead.

De Lacy grinned. “Good idea! I like it!”

Little John drank water. “Just say it. Everybody say it.” He raised his voice. “We... are Robin Hood.”

“ _We are Robin Hood_!” they chorused.

Marian chuckled at their statement. Isabella smiled wryly, her heart beating faster at the sight of Robin’s charming smile. Carter, Edmund, and Roger laughed aloud. Robin chuckled, as always looking proud and confident. They were filled with gladness because the desert ordeal seemed to be over.

§§§

King Richard watched Robin fighting with the so-called Saladin. Richard had arrived in the meeting place with Saladin in time, but his horse had been stopped by Robin of Locksley, Carter of Stretton, Edmund of Cranfield, Roger de Lacy, and the others who had been sentenced to death by their king a couple of hours ago. There were also two ladies with them, whom the king had never seen before; he guessed that Marian of Knighton was Gisborne’s wife and was stunned to learn that Isabella of Gisborne was Guy’s sister.

The king and the others watched Robin locked in a battle with the assassin. Robin swung his scimitar at his opponent’s chest, but Karim sidestepped and twisted to Robin’s left. Karim was an excellent swordsman, but Robin was more deadly with a sword. Yet, Karim was seething with anger, his fury making him more violent in a fierce fight. Robin had to use many sophisticated blows to mislead and outwit his enemy.

"Look, mates, it is such an awesome sword dance," Allan commented joyfully.

"A sword dance, Allan?" Marian repeated. "You call it a sword dance?” She frowned, irritated by Allan’s lightheartedness. “And what if Robin is wounded by this Saracen?"

“Maz, I meant nothing wrong. I want Robin to win, and I know he will win,” Allan hurriedly explained. “I only wanted to say that their fight is beautiful.”

“When two highly skilled swordsmen meet on the battlefield, the fight is gorgeous,” King Richard agreed, his eyes taking in the scene of the ongoing fight. “It is not easy to learn outstanding swordsmanship and hone it. Swordfight is a beautiful art, especially if a swordsman has Robin’s unique fighting style.” He chuckled. “Watching such a performance is a great pleasure for a warrior."

The Saracen lunged at Robin with an overhead blow, and the young captain easily parried it, swiftly spinning around and making a new assault on his enemy. They exchanged a series of diagonal blows and then circled each other. Robin was swinging his scimitar in an upward arc.

Carter laughed. "Only bad dancers are skewered and only if they make a mistake.”

“But everyone can make a mistake,” Edmund interposed.

“Robin is not an exception,” the king whispered, his heart pounding in his chest. “He has a deadly hand with a sword, especially with a scimitar. Robin is an incredibly gifted fighter! Yet, he is not the best swordsman we have seen and trained myself, but definitely one of the best we have ever seen.”

At the same time, the conspirators – Sheriff Vaisey, Guy of Gisborne, James of Lambton, Archer, Nasir, and two Saracen assassins – were hiding behind the sandy hills. They lay on the ground, their chests pressed to the hot sand. As if mesmerized, they watched Robin Hood fighting with Karim.

“Damn King Richard and Robin Hood! Damn these Crusaders to hell!” Vaisey released a long sequence of unintelligible curses. He glared at James. “James, how did Hood come here? The king was supposed to be alone! You told us that the king didn’t send him into the desert with the others, but you assured us that he was detained and heavily guarded in the camp.”

James shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Locksley always does something incredible. I have always despised him, but I cannot deny that he is a talented man.”

“It is taking too much time!” Vaisey’s shrilling voice coursed through the air. “Do something, you idiots!”

Archer stared at Robin, observing Robin’s magic swirls and spins in awe. “Robin Hood looks younger than his real age. It is difficult to imagine that this young man is a Crusader hero.”

“Captain Beaumont and Captain Lacy are very young as well,” Nasir interjected. “Oh, Allah! I hate all the Crusaders! I hate Melek-Ric!” He clenched his fists. “Karim must kill Captain Locksley.”

“I doubt that it will happen,” Archer voiced his opinion. Then he broke forth into a torrent of words, gesturing towards Robin all the time. “Karim is a less skilled swordsman than Huntingdon.”

Vaisey sneered. “And you are such a great expert in exotic weapons and fighting, Archy?”

Archer shifted his eyes from Robin to Vaisey. “Lord Vaisey, I warned you that I wouldn’t tolerate insults.”

Vaisey smiled. “You are a spirited boy, Archy.” His gaze went to Guy, his eyes narrowing. “Gizzy, my boy, you are a more obedient boy than Archy is and can ever be?”

“I am at your side,” Guy whispered, anger simmering in his blood.

“Lord Vaisey, I can tolerate you less and less with every passing minute,” Archer confessed. He gave Guy a long and puzzled look, astonished that the elder man willingly endured so much humiliation.

“Archy, I like rebellious spirits, like yours and Robin Hood’s,” Vaisey said as he surveyed Archer attentively. “You are as obnoxious and dryly humorous as Hood.” He looked into Archer’s eyes. “And you have Hood’s eyes – the pale blue eyes. Such a rare color!”

Guy glanced at Archer. Archer flashed the same cheeky smiles as Robin did; Archer’s eyes were of the same color as Hood’s. Guy shook his head, then gazed away.

Archer stiffened. “A simple coincidence.”

“Naturally,” Vaisey murmured thoughtfully.

The sheriff drew a wheezing breath; his face reminded of a furious ugly grimace of a lunatic. “I want King Richard dead! I want Robin Hood dead!” He slammed his fist into the sand. “I want the king and Hood both dead today. If they died on the same day, it would be God’s gift.”

Archer and Guy said nothing. They shared brief uneasily glances, for a moment letting the guard of their emotions down and finding the same disgust for the sheriff in each other’s eyes. Then Archer turned away, grinning at Guy, while Guy stiffened. They observed Robin lunge at the assassin, almost stabbing the man in the gut, but Karim was lucky and dodged from that blow.

Guy of Gisborne rubbed the sweat from his brow with his ungloved hands; then he threw his black gloves on the sand in disgust. He was boiling alive in his black leather attire, swearing oaths that he hadn’t changed his clothes for a simple silk tunic in Arabic fashion. He felt his every muscle tense, his skin radiated heat. The heat in his body was growing, and he envied Archer who was dressed in a light green silk tunic.

Guy was conflicted over his feelings for Robin Hood. He wanted Robin to be killed by Karim, but, at the same time, he also wished Robin to overpower his rival. Disturbed by the confusing thoughts, he shut his eyes, sighing heavily. As he opened them, he observed the swords meet between the two battling men, locking with great force. He was waiting for a sign of who would win, but the outcome was not clear yet, although he believed that Robin would eventually prevail.

A flurry of emotions swept through Archer. As he saw Robin of Locksley, his legendary secret half-brother fighting with Karim, Archer realized that the sheriff’s plot against Robin had been uncovered, and he was strangely pleased with that. Also, his mind was preoccupied with thoughts about Marian and Isabella whom he had seen with the Crusaders. Unlike Guy, he was convinced that Vaisey would do something bad to the ladies. As Marian and Isabella were with Robin, he thought that they had escaped and had gone to the king’s camp. Now he was thinking of the salvation of Marian and Isabella and even Robin’s salvation.

The fight continued to rage. Neither Robin nor Karim was going to let his rival overpower the other. Obviously getting angrier as he was repeatedly failing to overpower Robin, Karim gave an inhuman war cry, launching a new violent attack on Robin. Robin parried the blow and then advanced forward. Both men were fighting as if they were possessed by demons.

King Richard was very worried about Robin. He had publicly disgraced Robin and had even told the poor man that the deaths of his friends would be the punishment for the alleged treason. He had been too cruel to Robin, but at least he hadn’t ordered Robin’s execution. He was conscious of his guilt, and that tart feeling was corroding his heart. Richard’s heart constricted painfully as Robin’s blow was blocked by Karim who grabbed Robin’s sword arm, turning the young captain to him and then swinging overhand at him.

Robin fell on his back to avoid being stabbed. He grabbed Karim’s sword arm with his free hand, pulling the assassin down and then swiftly rolling Karim over, trying to pin him down. Robin jumped to his feet, and so did his enemy. Karim swiped at Robin's head, but Robin blocked that blow. Suddenly, Karim kicked Robin in the stomach, knocking him onto his back; then Robin punched his foe in the face.

The king thought that it was high time to help Robin, his blood boiling with rage and lust for battle. “We have seen enough,” he proclaimed. “He needs us.”

They got to their feet and rushed to the horses. Richard mounted his white stallion and spurred it. Marian hopped up on the horse behind Much; Isabella settled in the saddle ahead Roger de Lacy who was watching his prisoner attentively. The others also mounted. They slowly climbed the sandy hill and rode towards Robin, with King Richard leading the party and the others following him.

“Robin, please forgive me,” Richard requested as he reached Robin and stopped.

Robin sighed and simply nodded. “I already have.” Despite the heat, a slight wind had arisen, sending the clouds scud across the sky from the east. Robin looked up, at the sky, a feeling of apprehension about a possible sandstorm coming over him, but he swiftly banished it from his head.

“I was wrong. I should have never doubted you,” the king added remorsefully.

“The sheriff is a cunning and dangerous man,” Robin commented, staring into the distance where the sheriff, Guy, and other men were mounting their horses. “You believed these wretched lies because you were given the written proof of my guilt, although the forgery brought to you by the fake messenger.”

The king smiled. “We will talk later.” His gave de Lacy with a look of repentance. “Roger, I am sorry.”

“All is forgotten and forgiven,” de Lacy returned with a smile.

“Let’s finish this now,” Robin offered.

As he reached Robin’s horse, Carter tightened the reins to pause. “Are you sure, Robin?”

“The sheriff crossed the line. He must be stopped,” Robin snapped, his voice tight with anger.

The king nodded vigorously. “These traitors must pay for their crimes.”

Roger de Lacy rode to them with slack reins. “I don’t think that we should pursue them now.”

“Why?” The king looked between Roger and Robin.

De Lacy glanced unsettlingly at his liege and at Robin. “I just don’t like this situation.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” the king reproached.

“After them!” Robin cried out, the familiar bloodlust gripping him.

Robin fiercely spurred on his horse and rode away, leaving everyone far behind. King Richard followed suit and galloped away across the sandy dunes. Carter, Edmund, and the others set their horses at the same maddening speed. As they set off in the direction of the ruined town called Imuiz, chasing after the sheriff’s black figure; the sound of thundering hooves filled the hot air.

The sheriff, Nasir, Karim, Guy, Archer, and James galloped through a fallen archway into the deserted town. They crossed the entrance square, filled with broken carts, wagons litter, and sandbags, all the traces of the last defense of the former Saracen village. Vaisey stopped in the middle of the square, glancing between Guy and Archer and then shifting his gaze to Nasir and Karim.

“Nasir, are our assassins already here?” the sheriff questioned imperturbably.

Nasir smiled craftily. “We have more than twenty assassins here. They are hiding in the town.”

Vaisey smiled nastily. “La di da di da! I like this! This is great!”

“Hood is with the king,” Guy mentioned.

The sheriff laughed fiendishly. “Well, we may kill Robin Hood, too.”

“So many assassins?” Archer cringed at the thought of what could happen in Imuiz.

“When you have Robin Hood near King Richard, you have to be prepared for everything.” The sheriff’s jeweled tooth gleamed in the sunlight. “Watch what I am doing and learn, boys.”

“Marian and Isabella are together with the king and Hood,” Guy spoke anxiously. “How did they get there?”

“Gisborne, now we must get rid of the king!” Vaisey bawled out. “Your lepers may wait!”

“But… my lord…” Guy stammered.

The sheriff rode to Guy and paused. He grabbed the collar of Guy’s jacket. “Gisborne, shame on you! You are becoming meek again!” he grumbled. “Take a hold of your emotions! Remember what I taught you! Be a man, not a blithering, weak oaf! Your sword must be stained in blood! A man kills – a man never forgives and never whimpers. You must destroy and take human lives to prove yourself as a strong man!”

Looking into the sheriff’s eyes full of undeniable menace and malicious joy, Guy was trembling all over. “My lord, I am a man. I killed many people–”

“Gizzy, I have already said many times that lepers are not important when you have power. Don’t fail me today,” the sheriff supplied. "Kill the king and live in paradise with me.”

Guy gave a nod. “Yes, my lord.”

“It is not too late! We may murder the king here!” the sheriff promulgated, his eyes darting between his accomplices. “Karim and Nasir, over there! Gisborne, with me! Archer, over that building!”

Nasir dismounted with his crossbow and hid behind an overturned wagon. The sheriff, James, and Gisborne galloped off down the street. His mind reeling and his heart torn between his desire to do the right thing and his wish to take revenge on Malcolm and Robin, Archer paused at the corner of the square, looking in the direction where Vaisey and Guy men had headed; then he stalked in the opposite direction.

King Richard and Carter rode off after the sheriff down the street; Robin was trying to follow them. Robin stopped and dismounted; Edmund and Roger de Lacy followed suit, though Isabella was still sitting on Roger’s horse. As Much and Marian were crossing the square, Nasir nocked an arrow that struck the horse in the chest, causing them go down with the horse. An angry Much spewed curses, his eyes searching for a culprit. Robin helped Marian climb to her feet. Then Little John, Will, Djaq, and Allan arrived in the same courtyard; everyone dismounted and prepared their weapons to defend themselves and the king.

“It looks like a trap,” Robin evaluated shrewdly. He eyed Marian and Much. “Are you both alright?”

“Yes,” Much answered. “Where is King Richard?”

The sunlight softened Robin’s hard features a little bit. "The king went after the sheriff.”

"It is hazardous,” Marian stated.

Robin gave a nod. “Richard always rules from the front rows."

John shook his head. "This I don’t like."

“And neither do I,” de Lacy joined the conversation.

“What will we do?” Edmund questioned, looking between Robin and Roger.

Robin spoke apprehensively. “I fear there are many Saracens hiding here. We must find the king: he should leave this place, and someone will accompany him back to the camp."

"Yes," Edmund acceded to his captain’s proposal. “The king must leave.”

Robin’s eyes flittered between Marian and Isabella. “John, please take the ladies and go to one of the deserted buildings for their safety. Stay there and wait for someone to come.”

Marian inquired with a laugh, “Since then have you begun to preach caution, Robin?”

“I became more careful a while ago, Marian. But I expected that you would dismiss my admonition,” Robin responded, unable to conceal the unspoken condemnation. He roamed his eyes over the group of his friends. “If I do something risky or reckless, it doesn’t mean I don’t know what I am doing.”

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“He always has another half-a-plan in case the original plan fails,” Much provided clarity with a laugh.

Robin grinned. “Yeah, well, you are right.”

“Whatever you think or do, Robin, you have no right to teach me,” Marian shot back, still insulted by Robin’s words. “I won’t follow your orders. I am not your soldier.”

For a moment, Robin looked perturbed, and Marian had the dreaded feeling that she had overreacted. But then he cursed, and his face morphed into something visually unsavory, and she backed away.

Robin snickered at Marian’s attempt to defy him. “As you are refusing to obey direct orders from me who fought in the Holy Land for seven years, then it is even more necessary to watch over you!”

Marian persisted, “You have no authority over me, Robin!”

Everyone was silent, waiting for the resolution of the argument between Marian and Robin.

“Maz, I think Robin is right,” Allan joined the discussion.

Robin smiled at Allan with gratitude; then he looked at Marian. “There can be only one commander in battle, and it is not you, Marian,” he responded strictly, his eyes flying to Little John. “John, the ladies are coming with you. Take first right after the square; you will find where to hide in the town.” He stilled for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Much, you are staying with me. Roger, Allan, and Edmund, go down the street where the king went. Djaq and Will, turn first left after the square.”

Robin and the others split up in the town. The streets were framed by two-storied, old, sandy- colored Arabic houses with ornamented façades and small balconies, which were a good hiding place for many foes. While the king’s men and defenders walked through a maze of narrow streets and deserted squares, the king’s enemies – Vaisey, Gisborne, and James – also wandered in the same labyrinth. The battle of life and death was about to unfold, and there was no way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sheriff’s plan to trap Robin and his friends turns out to be successful. As King Richard gets the fake letters, Robin is exposed as a traitor, for the king has the written proof of Robin’s alleged treason. Of course, Robin’s loyalty to the king is put under a severe test; something may change between them. 
> 
> Taking into account Robin’s blood relationship with Richard, I decided that Richard would not take Robin into the desert to die with his friends. The historical King  
> Richard was a vengeful and temperamental man, but I can hardly believe that he can order to execute Robin, knowing that Queen Eleanor would never forgive him for killing Robin. That’s why Robin is only detained while others have to pay a high price for Robin’s supposed treason; the king punishes him by executing his friends, Robin’s supposed accomplices, and indirectly casting the blame on Robin’s shoulders. 
> 
> But Robin escapes from the Crusaders’ camp, together with Carter and Edmund. They save the others from death in the desert and then ride to Imuiz, chasing after the Sheriff, Guy, Archer, and James. Some things are similar to what happened on the show in S2E13, but the framework for the regicide attempt is different.


	7. A Tragedy in the Courtyard

**Chapter 7**

**A Tragedy in the Courtyard**

Robin and Much wandered through a labyrinth of narrow alleys and squares, trying to stay near the walls in order to remain undetected by Vaisey and the Saracen assassins. Robin ordered Much to stay at his side because he was accustomed to working with his former manservant as a team, like it had been during their first five years in the Holy Land; Much usually protected Robin from the back.

A feeling of panic and dread stole over Robin as he perused the street around them. He couldn’t quite make it out whether it was a premonition, or some more of the exaggerating on his part that danger was very close.  “I don’t see King Richard,” he stated quietly, coughing nervously.

Much looked around; he started breathing rapidly, feeling panic well up inside him. He was weary of the heat and eager for cool weather, but more than that, he was tired of the worry. “Our king must be suffering from a heatstroke! What has he done today? At first, he accused us of treason. Then he went into the desert unprotected. And now he disappears here, trying to find the sheriff. And what should we do now?”

Robin chided him, “Much, you must concentrate. Be very attentive!”

Suddenly, they heard Arabic voices somewhere nearby. Robin abruptly shoved Much in a niche between two buildings and instinctively embraced Much, shielding him with his body. As they were so close to each other, Robin heard his friend’s heart beating so wildly and so loud that it seemed to drown out all other sounds. Straining his ears, Robin heard approaching footsteps: then four Saracens passed by them.

“And what now?” Much whispered, looking at Robin and waiting for a command.

Robin’s face split into a wolfish grin. “We fight and kill them.”

Robin stepped out of the niche, leaving Much there, and paused in the middle of the street. He whistled loudly, the earsplitting kind he had learned as a merry and recalcitrant boy, and that piercing sound sent Much scurrying to his side. The sound also attracted the attention of the assassins who turned around and stared at Robin with dark eyes filled with hatred for this Christian man.

Grinning impudently, Robin stared fearlessly at the dark-skinned Saracens, his eyes registering their hateful glances. His expression was blank, his lips thinned into a straight line, and he felt the first feral stirrings of bloodlust coming to life. Robin unsheathed his scimitar and brandished his weapon for intimidation, all the time grinning at his foes. Then he rushed towards them and attacked them with such ferocity that the Saracens’ jaws dropped in horror before they came to their senses and drew their swords

As Robin engaged three Saracens in a fight, the fourth assassin gave a war cry and attacked Much who was barely able to draw his broadsword in time and deflect a blow.

Robin lunged at the first assassin and made a circular blow. His mind began to blur as the undercurrent darkness in him resurrected like a blanket around him, swaddling, choking, and taking him in a cocoon of blankness. He was in a state of dark trance, his mind concentrated on the fight. He quickly entered into a series of smooth, elegant blows, holding back all of his enemies simultaneously. With a growl that could shake the sky, Robin spun and swung his sword in a graceful and lethal arc, beheading one enemy, laying open the chest of another one, and spilling the guts of the third one.

Much quickly skewed one of the assassins and then stood rooted to the spot, watching Robin fight with Saracens with a dark beauty and an undeniable grace. He had envied Robin’s outstanding fighting skills until he had seen in the Holy Land what a bloodthirsty Robin could do on the battlefield. Much loved Robin wholeheartedly, but at times he was afraid of the inner darkness which Robin kept in his heart.

With lips curled back from his clenched teeth, Robin surged forward and swung his scimitar in a deadly arc at the third Saracen’s chest. In a heartbeat, the assassin gurgled with blood and slumped to the ground – he was dead. Looking down at the fallen man, an incensed Robin swiped his sword down at the assassin’s chest over and over again until the Saracen’s lifeless body resembled a bloody piece of meat.

His eyes wide in horror, his heart beating frantically in his chest, Robin stared down at the dead man, whom he had just killed in such a barbaric way. “What have I done?” he asked himself in a shaky voice.

Much put a comforting hand on Robin’s shoulder. “Snap out of your melancholy,” he admonished. “Marian’s presence is disturbing, but you have to take your emotions under control. The king needs you.”

Robin breathed out a sigh of relief that his best friend was not going to lecture him. He veered his gaze to Much. “Much, it is not only Marian. It is–” He broke off abruptly.

A startled Much inquired, “What?”

Robin took some time to answer, trying to recollect his composure and settle his thoughts. As a thought of his own possible death popped into his head, his emotions began to churn in his stomach then slowly rising up to his chest. When he spoke, his voice was steady in spite of the inner turmoil. “The fear of death follows from the fear of life. I have never been afraid of life, and I don’t fear death. I live fully, and I am prepared to die at any time. Yet, now _I feel strange, as if I had reached a point of no return_.” He stilled for a moment, searching for the right words. As he went on, his eyes were completely blank and his face was imbued with a sense of premonition. “ _I feel that my life has come to its logical end_.”

Much’s face contorted in dread and despair. He stepped to Robin and grabbed his shoulders, and then he shook his best friend almost violently. “Don’t say this, Robin! Don’t!” he entreated. “You won’t die today!”

Robin took a sharp breath and then relaxed as he exhaled. He still felt as if Much’s words made no sense, and his stomach tightened as a feeling of bad foreboding clutched his heart, making it flutter helplessly. He briefly considered touching the theme of his death again, but he turned his attention to another topic. “I am sorry, Much. And my feelings don’t matter now as we have to find King Richard,” he articulated slowly.

Much released Robin and stepped back. “We must find the king!”

Robin felt his heart pounding harder in alarm. “Thank you. We should hurry, Much.”

Much wiped the sweat from his brow. "We are here again, but I feel as though we had never left."

“I feel the same,” Robin agreed. His face turned serious. "Be attentive. We will talk later."

Robin and Much hastened down the street without a backward glance. They didn’t see Archer who emerged from the corner of a nearby building, shaking his head in disbelief. He witnessed how Robin had slaughtered three Saracens and heard what Robin had said afterwards. Archer was profoundly impressed with his half-brother’s fighting skills, and he now knew that Robin wasn’t a shallow man.

Robin and Much saw five Saracens galloping on their little Arabic horses straight in their direction. The assassins pulled back their bow cords and nocked arrows. Robin crouched and prepared his Saracen bow; he shot an arrow and then let loose on the Saracens a volley of arrows which struck their bodies and severed them to pieces. Several Saracens slipped from their horses, and Robin felt a huge relief wash over him as he saw a trail of bodies near the terrified riderless horses.

As Robin and Much continued walking down the street, they didn’t notice the lonely Saracen who stalked them from the back and lifted his sword to strike out at Robin. They kept going until Robin instinctively felt that someone was right behind. Just as he intended to turn around, they heard a loud battle cry behind.

Robin swiveled and watched Edmund of Cranfield attacking the assassin from the back. The assassin swung around and lunged at Edmund; the blades clashed, and loud screams of pain filled the air. Edmund tumbled to the sand, a scimitar driven into his chest; the blade apparently penetrated his lungs as he began to choke on his own blood. The Saracen lay dead nearby as Edmund’s sword had almost severed his neck.

In a heartbeat, Robin was on the sand; his hand clasped Edmund’s. “Edmund, you saved my life.”

Edmund smiled painfully, looking into Robin’s eyes. “I did the right thing, Robin.”

“Sir Edmund!” Much cried out in horror as he sat on the ground.

“Much, you are a good and kind man,” Edmund murmured.

Robin was amazed. “You were not supposed to be here, Edmund. You were with Roger.”

“We found the king. He is not alone now,” Edmund enlightened. He paused, nearly choking on blood that filled his mouth and trickled down his neck. “He sent me to you.”

“Why?” Robin questioned, his worried and surprised heart somersaulting in his chest.

“To protect you, Robin.” Edmund smiled vaguely. “King Richard loves you so much.”

“Oh, Edmund.” Robin stroked his dying friend’s hair. “You shouldn’t have saved me.”

Edmund shook his head. “No, you must live.”

"Where is the king?" Much asked.

Edmund responded in a weak voice, "He was with Roger, Carter, and Allan.”

Robin drew a deep, painful breath. “Edmund, please hold on,” he pleaded.

Edmund clutched Robin’s hand, smiling widely. “Robin, tell my wife that I saved Robin Hood.”

Robin felt tears sting his eyes, and his heart tightened. “I will.”

Robin noticed Edmund's glassy gaze that was disconnected from the reality as life had left Edmund’s body. Edmund died for Robin, saving his life under King Richard’s orders. The grim truth echoed through Robin’s head: his friend was dead because of Vaisey's treacherous plots! The thought that only one man could have caused people so much pain angered Robin madly. Robin clenched his fists as a tide of black fury swept through him and his mind exploded in a white-hot burst of rage.

Much tugged at the sleeve of Robin’s tunic. “Robin, we have to go. We must find the king.”

Robin was silent for a moment and didn’t react. Moved by the tragedy of Edmund’s death, he found himself searching for the right words to give tribute to his heroic friend. He bowed his head, looking down at the corpse; then he crossed himself. “Rest in peace, Edmund. I will never forget what you did for me throughout all the years we fought for the king in the Holy Land.”

“I will never forget Sir Edmund too,” Much murmured as he followed suit and crossed himself too.

Robin lurched to his feet, his heart pounding harder as a feeling of alarm seized him. His body swayed for a second before he steadied himself. “We must keep the king safe.”

Much also stood up. “Let’s go.”

“Edmund was a good and strong man, loyal to England and the king. He didn’t deserve to die,” Robin commented emphatically before casting a last wistful glance at Edmund. Then he strode towards the end of the street, heading to the part of Imuiz where King Richard seemed to have gone.

As they turned around the corner, Robin lost Much among the narrow passages between the buildings. Robin was alone in the deserted garden of a rich sheik’s house, but the fountains had long ceased to splash and the stench seeped in through the heavy iron lattices. The hot morning sun shone down on the polished armor of the Crusaders and the pale sandy dunes, and Robin inhaled and exhaled, feeling as though he hadn’t made a breath, for there seemed to be almost no oxygen in the air.

Robin stopped for a moment and used the back of his palm to wipe away the annoying bead of sweat that hung from his eyebrow. He envied the Saracens who wore loose robes made of light silk material. Robin shook his head, cursing the labyrinths of Imuiz and intending to go down the alley where he had left Much. He heard the sound of someone’s footsteps behind; these were not light footsteps which the Crusaders usually had after fighting in the Holy Land for years and, hence, being able to noiselessly move on the sand.

Robin turned around and stared at his attacker. He was fortunate that his scimitar was unsheathed; he swiftly parried the unexpected diagonal blow. “What a perfect meeting, Sir Guy of Gisborne!” he announced, grinning at his sworn enemy and swinging his sword at an angry Guy.

“Hood, we meet again,” Guy hissed between gnashed teeth. With a growl, he lunged at Robin.

Robin easily parried his blow. “How are you, Gisborne? Not dead from the heat yet?” Smiling with superiority and amusement at his childhood enemy, he blocked Guy’s overhead blow. “Last time you were in Acre in November, and now it is the end of July. It is hotter here, right? Do you like the weather?”

Guy smiled with satisfaction, thinking that the hour of his vengeance on the Earl of Huntingdon had finally arrived. “Now you will die, Hood! Your time to die has come!” he screamed in rage.

Robin measured him with a skeptical look. “You promised to kill me so many times.” In a smooth, adroit motion, he brought his scimitar up and crisscrossed it with Guy’s broadsword. “But you have always failed.”

Blocking Robin’s blow, Guy screeched, “But today you will die!”

“At least it won’t be at your hand,” Robin teased.

Gathering all his strength, Guy rained down on Robin a series of powerful overhead blows. He planned that a blow of such a great strength would knock out the scimitar from Robin’s hand, but he was mistaken.

Robin ducked and sidestepped a blow, then lunged at Guy from another angle. The blades clashed, Damascus steel hissing against English steel, and Guy had to defend himself from Robin’s new assault. Guy made another attack with a chopping motion of his sword, the edge of the blade landing against Robin’s scimitar. Grinning from ear to ear, Robin extended his sword arm forward and then dodged from a new blow. Smiling at Guy, Robin swiped his sword in a horizontal arc, his blade flashing silver in the air.

Guy made a preparatory movement by sliding his blade down and then taking it up, aiming at Robin’s chest. “I am fed up with you, Hood.”

Robin sidestepped and flung back, “Yeah, it is a great pity, Gisborne!”

“You are mine.” Guy blocked a crisscross blow. A severe scowl appeared on his face, for he was furious that Robin still had the upper hand in their fight.

Robin laughed gibingly. “You don’t like my beautiful blows, do you?”

“I don’t like you!” Guy shot back.

“Let me guess, Gisborne,” Robin began as he sidestepped and launched a new attack on Guy. “You have hated me since childhood.”

“I hate you because you ruined my life, Hood! You took from me what was mine!” Shaking with fury, Guy gave a loud cry of a madman and charged into the battle with a newly found vigor.

Gisborne brought down his sword with such a furious strength that scimitar trembled in Robin’s hands. Yet, Guy failed to disarm Robin as the sandy-haired man ducked, jumped, and then kicked Guy, bringing up his knees into his adversary’s belly. The momentum threw Guy off balance, and he felt to the ground.

Guy howled with pain and slammed his fist into the sand. He scrambled to his feet and hurled himself at his Robin, bringing the younger man down. However, Guy was not quite fast enough to attack Robin again as Robin rolled over on the sand to get away from Guy and sat up. With a snarl, Guy grabbed Robin’s legs and pulled his rival towards himself, and Robin’s face almost touched the sand. Robin hit Guy in the chest, and, taking advantage of his enemy’s abashment, twisted Guy’s hand behind his back. Guy cursed under his breath and was about to attack Robin again, but the lithe archer slammed the fists into Guy’s chest.

“I am sorry for causing you some pain,” Robin mocked with a wide grin. He jumped to his feet and grabbed his scimitar from the sand. “But you deserved that.”

Gisborne grabbed his sword and climbed to his feet, extending his sword to make a new assault on Robin. “You deserve death at my hands.”

Robin parried a blow and thrust his blade forward. “You hate me because you are a misinformed idiot! I hated you because I was a fool! But we are both guilty of many things! Don’t you see that, Gisborne?”

“You stole the Gisborne lands from my sister and me! I had to sell my sister because of you and your damned father! You are a thief and a liar!” Guy bellowed as he lunged at Robin who again blocked that blow.

Robin shouted defensively, “I didn’t banish you from Locksley – Bailiff Longthorn did!”

“It doesn’t matter, Hood! You are guilty of the misery in my life!” Guy bellowed as he sliced at Robin’s chest, but it was to no avail as Robin sidestepped.

“ _You don’t know so many important things_ , Gisborne!” Robin yelled in a sudden outburst of rage. 

“You are lying!” Guy bellowed, gritting his teeth and advancing at his rival.

“I am not lying!” Robin let out a strange laugh; his voice now was careful and controlled. “I lied only once in my life when I didn’t say that it was my arrow that wounded the priest! I have never lied again!”

A dark, detestable grimace on the face of the sheriff’s henchman turned into bewilderment at Robin’s admission. “Criticizing yourself, you filthy outlaw?” He sneered as he stabbed at Robin with his sword.

“I am not an outlaw anymore.” Robin deflected Guy’s blow that could have slain him. “And I also wash myself very often, Gisborne; for sure more often than you did on the ship sailing to Acre.”

“You may hold two earldoms and be married to the king’s cousin, but you will always be a damned thief!” Guy wielded his sword with skilled precision, his expression imbued with impalpable hatred.

Robin traded a series of fierce blows with Guy, defending himself masterfully. “Ability to accept your own faults makes you a stronger man and a more harmonic personality! But even if you, Gisborne, learn the truth and see how mistaken you have been, you will always blame others for your own mistakes and choices because only a strong man can accept that he is wrong and then atone for his sins and transgressions!”

“I don’t need your pity!” Guy roared, unable to control himself.

Robin’s eyes lit with intense anger. “You blame others for your misery, and it is true. I won’t deny that I wronged you in childhood. Some… other people did wrong things to you too.”

Guy’s steel blue eyes turned deeply blue, stormy with dark emotion. “You are at fault, Hood!”

Robin’s pale blue eyes flamed up with dark fire as he parried another blow. “No, Gisborne! You are mostly at fault! You made your own choices, not my father or I! You chose to serve Vaisey and Prince John! You are guilty of killing many innocents!”

“Shut up!” Guy thundered back as he swung his sword at the source of the words he hated.

“You fear to hear the truth about yourself!” Robin set his scimitar to counter a blow Guy directed at him. “Damn you, Gisborne, be a strong man and accept responsibility for your own mistakes!”

“Stop talking! Stop talking!” Guy bellowed savagely. He attacked the younger man again, aiming at Robin's stomach and chest.

“You murdered my friends!” Robin forced a new attack from Guy through the parry.

Guy again lunged at Robin. “I killed them because I had to do that!”

Robin raised his scimitar in a parry. “You murdered Roger of Stoke, one of my best friends, in cold blood!” he shouted. “You killed my men from the private guard on the night of the Saracen attack!”

Guy heard the pain in Robin’s words, and, to his own surprise, his heart constricted in his chest. “Yes,” he said as he dodged from Robin’s blow. “I had to get rid of them.”

“For whom did you kill them? For the sheriff or for yourself?” Robin made another assault on Guy.

“I didn’t want to kill them! I had to kill them!” Guy shrilled.

“Why did you spill their blood?” Robin fired back.

“I had to kill them because I had to re-take my lands back,” Guy hissed between clenched teeth. “The sheriff gave me back what you had stolen from me in childhood!”

Robin lashed out with his sword, swinging for Guy’s head as a fit of vicious rage slashed through his heart, goading him toward berserk, violent action. For a moment, Robin’s mind went blank, and the desire to kill his adversary was overwhelming, even though his heart decried him for it. Robin swung his scimitar in a high arc towards the other man’s head, but Guy saw it coming and sidestepped. Taking his emotions under control and feeling his temper cool off, Robin made a circular blow and then crossed the blades with his enemy. Suddenly, Guy found himself lying on the ground, his face down, his mouth full of sand; Robin’s sideways lunge had caught Guy off guard and flung him off balance.

Looking down at Guy, Robin shrewdly assessed, “Gisborne, you killed them because you cannot control the darkness in yourself and because your damned master brutalized you.” He shook his head, his face contorting in disgust. “You killed them because you are weak and pathetic, Gisborne. You are not a strong man!” He stepped aside, making a gesture to invite Guy to continue their fight.

Knowing that Robin would attack him again, Guy got to his feet and prepared to fight for his life. He looked at his enemy and shuddered at the sight of the clearheaded, unearthly detachment on Robin’s face; he also took notice of Robin’s eyes unusually bright and cold. Guy saw the same expression on Robin’s face during the two bloody fights in England, when Robin had killed like a demon-possessed man. Now Guy again saw the familiar Robin seized by frenzied bloodlust.

The battle between Robin and Guy continued. They were formidable fighters, but Robin was a more skilled swordsman because of his unique fighting style and because of fighting intensive in bloody battles with the Saracens. Guy was heavier and physically stronger than Robin, but that was fully compensated by Robin’s unique sword fighting style, adroitness and agility, and his tricky, complicated blows.

Robin parried Guy’s blow, moving adroitly and rapidly. Then Robin feigned a movement to the left and sliced to the right, almost catching Guy off guard once again. Robin launched a rampageous assault on Guy, wielding his sword in great, sweeping arcs. An enraged Guy charged into the battle with a newly found passion, his blows more powerful and more systematic as he was trying to build a complicated strategy to overpower Robin. Yet, Guy couldn’t predict what type of a blow or a combination of blows Robin would use; Hood was one of the most difficult opponents Guy had ever fought with.

Robin spun around and advanced forward. His scimitar met the broadsword knocking it from Guy’s hand; he pointed his scimitar at Guy’s throat. “Cool off your head, Gisborne. Your anger and hatred blind you. Not everything is as it seems, and maybe one day you will learn the truth.”

Robin’s sharp and penetrating gaze impaled Guy who felt the conflict begin to rise. He didn’t understand his enemy at the moment. “You are behaving strangely, Hood,” he admitted.

Robin smiled mystically. “Maybe, Gisborne. Maybe.” He canted his neck and studied Guy closely, then added, “Sorry, but I have to leave you here. And I have to do something… painful.” Throwing at his defeated rival an apologetic glance, Robin then rammed his fist into Guy’s face, rendering him unconscious. He turned around and threw Guy an apologetic smile over his shoulder. “I hope you won’t awake until the battle is over,” he said to himself; then he walked away.

§§§

After Robin had left Gisborne, he passed through the long alley and then climbed on the roof of a nearby building to have a greater view of the town. Looking down on the road, he was awash in enormous relief when he saw King Richard riding on his white stallion down the street.

Lifting one hand to his forehead, Robin winced when his fingertips encountered a small bruise above his brow; it was a trace of his recent skirmish with Gisborne. “Sire, I was looking for you!”

King Richard lifted his eyes to Robin and smiled at his beloved knight. “I am alright, Robin.”

“It is a trap. You should leave this place," Robin said adamantly.

As Richard saw the assassin behind Robin, he hurled his sword at the Saracen, saving Robin's life. Karim groaned and tumbled to the sand; he was dead. "Careful, Robin," the king exhorted.

"Thank you." Robin smiled gratefully, his gaze sliding to Karim.

The king nodded. “You are welcome.”

"My liege," Robin called the king. "I cannot let you go alone and unprotected."

"Robin, I will be alright," Richard assured him, a small smile quivering in the corners of his mouth.

"Sire, you need protection. You cannot go alone," Robin insisted.

Richard shook his head in disagreement. "Robin, you will never change! At times, I don't know what it is better – your disobedience, insubordination, stubbornness, foolhardiness, or persistence. You fear nothing, not even the wrath of kings." He chuckled. "Good luck, Robin. Be careful and safe." Then he rode away.

Displeased that he didn’t manage to persuade the king to be more reasonable, Robin rushed to the staircase and descended to the ground floor, intending to find his friends. He resolved to disregard the king’s order and to find one of his friends to protect their liege on the escape route from Imuiz.

Looking around, Robin found Nasir hiding on the roof of a nearby building; he unshouldered his bow and silently nocked an arrow that hit the vile Saracen in his neck with uncanny accuracy.

“Another one,” a smiling Robin told himself.

Relieved that another assassin was dead, Robin hurtled to the road, but, in the next moment, he found himself pinned to the ground. Robin stared into the hateful face of his attacker in surprise, for the man was Sir James of Lambton, the former head of the king’s private guard in Robin’s absence and the sheriff’s last spy in the king’s camp. Suddenly, Robin felt a stab of pain passed through his skull as he was punched in the face. Robin blocked James’ second blow with his hand.

“So many traitors,” Robin commented dryly.

Robin jumped to his feet, grabbed his sword, and lunged at James who ducked and, screaming an ululating war cry, attacked Robin. James and Robin danced around one another; the clang of metal on metal on metal was deafening.

“Oh, you didn’t expect to see me here, Lord Huntingdon?” James hissed.

Robin parried a blow. “No, I wasn’t shocked, Lord Lambton. At least now I understand why the attack on the camp when I was wounded was undetected.”

James lunged at Robin. “You are right. I made half of the night guard leave their posts on that night.”

“You have always been a spy in the king’s camp. You must be a spy whom we have been searching for so long.” Robin swung his scimitar in an impressive and dangerous arc at his rival.

James laughed as he blocked a blow. “You see, Locksley, I am cleverer than you.”

“You know, James, I have never liked you.” Robin made a new assault on the traitor.

“I have always despised you, Huntingdon.”

“Why, James?”

“King Richard has favored you too much,” the traitor snapped wrathfully.

“Ah, I see,” Robin drawled as he deflected a new blow. “Envy and jealousy.”

James swung his sword in an overhead blow, and Robin turned away, reaching his scimitar up and slicing James’ forearm. Burning with rage, James flung his body at Robin; then he wrapped his hands around Robin’s throat and started strangling his captain. As he lay on the sand, Robin attempted to fumble for his sword, but it had slipped from his hand when James had thrown himself at Robin.

"Die now, Locksley," James hissed with an abominable smile. “I have wanted you dead for so long.” 

"I wouldn't be so sure," Robin chocked out, his eyes locking with Much’s anxious orbs.

As Robin’s life was in peril, Much stalked James from behind and beheaded him with one swing. “Oh, Robin,” he murmured; his expression was a mixture of fear, terror, and determination.

"Thank you, Much," Robin said with a smile.

"Are you fine?" Much gave his hand to Robin, looking at his friend with concern.

"Yes, I am. Just a little tired,” Robin replied truthfully.   

"A traitor deserves a traitor's death." Much frowned in disgust at the sight of James' headless body.

Robin chuckled. "Yes, Much." He leaned down and took his bow and scimitar in his hands. "Let's go." He tightened up his sword belt; then the two of them stalked forward along the street.

Meanwhile, Sheriff Vaisey plotted a murder of Sir Carter Leighton of Stretton, Baron Clifton. He didn’t forget that he had once hired the charming blonde assassin to kill Robin Hood, but Carter not only had failed to kill Robin but also had deceived Vaisey and conspired with the outlaw to rob him. Later Carter had joined Robin Hood in his noble efforts to save England and the king. Vaisey wasn’t a man who could forget and forgive his humiliation or betrayal; he always made traitors pay with their lives. The venom in his blood threatened to poison his own body with hatred if he couldn’t take revenge against those who betrayed him.

Vaisey sniggered, his eyes narrowing calculatingly as he spotted Carter who was talking with Roger de Lacy. “Roger, please keep the king safe. I will find Robin,” he heard Carter say in a high voice.

 Carter began to stalk down the street, looking around apprehensively and attentively. Carter was alone, and the sheriff had a chance. Vaisey hid round the corner of a building, waiting for his victim to appear at crossroads between two narrow streets. He unsheathed his new golden scimitar, preparing to take Carter’s life. He liked a light Saracen curved sword a lot; he had bought a new sword for himself in Acre, wishing to check whether a Saracen sword made Robin such a great fighter. In a few moments, Carter stopped at the crossroads and glanced around, searching for his enemies; the sheriff cursed under his breath.

Carter continued walking, looking around attentively, as if he were suspecting the danger. Carter took a right turn, and suddenly Vaisey appeared from behind the corner and attacked the Crusader. The sheriff sliced Carter’s right side deeply through the ribs with his Saracen curved blade. Feeling the blade penetrating his flesh, Carter screamed in pain; he fell to the ground with a groan.

The sheriff laughed. “Bye bye, Blondie. You are a traitor to me, and I never forgive betrayal!”

Vaisey left Carter bleeding into the sand; he didn't see that the Crusader's eyes flung wide-open after his departure. Clutching his side with his right hand, Carter steeled himself against the pain in his ribs, and it took all his strength to pull himself into a sitting position. He was seriously wounded, but he was alive.

Carter dragged a deep, painful breath, trying to move his body. Clutching his side, he was slowly crawling over the sand, leaving a large bloody trace behind. He knew that he had to hide from the easily observable alley, where he been stabbed, in order to avoid being killed by one of Vaisey’s accomplices.

Suddenly, Carter saw a pair of boots right before his face. He raised his eyes and exclaimed, “Roger!”

“Carter!” Roger de Lacy looked very troubled. “Who did this to you? Who?”

“The sheriff,” Carter rasped.

Allan stood behind Roger. “I am not being funny, but the sheriff is a nasty man!”

Roger and Allan crouched to examine Carter’s injury. In a few moments, they heard a loud war cry and saw three Saracens galloping on their horses in their direction and preparing to shoot them.

Suddenly, red-feathered arrows slammed deeply into the assassins’ chests, right into their hearts, with lethal accuracy. The horses cried in fright and bolted, and the Saracens dropped dead.

“Robin?” de Lacy asked, looking around.

“These are not Robin’s arrows,” Allan remarked.

Startled and confused, they stared at their savior – a young handsome man, grinning insolently at them, his pale blue eyes twinkling with mischief. The stranger held a Saracen curved bow, not aiming at them; he also had two Saracen long and short curved swords sheathed in scabbards that hung at his belt.

“I am not Robin, but my aim is as deadly as his,” Archer bragged. “I am Archer.”

“I haven’t seen you here. How did you get here?” de Lacy inquired.

Archer scoffed. “I just was in the right place and at the right time.”

Allan eyed the newcomer suspiciously. “Look, mate, we thank you for saving us. Are you gonna say for whom you are fighting?”

Roger de Lacy studied Archer closely, his eyes flashing with the misgivings that amounted almost to a wish as he craved to spill the blood of all traitors. “Reveal your allegiances now, young man. If you are Sheriff Vaisey’s accomplice, I will have to kill you,” he menaced, his green eyes narrowing and hardening as emeralds. His hand flew to his scabbard, but he paused, awaiting the reply.

“Roger de Lacy, you are a hellish warrior,” Archer spoke with respect.  “I don’t doubt that you are good at killing, and you killed many Saracens. Your reputation says everything about you.”

De Lacy blanched. “How do you know me?”

Archer smiled. “Well, you are a famous man in the Holy Land.”

“Whose side are you taking?” de Lacy demanded in a hiss.

“I am my own man,” Archer stated, grinning sheepishly. “I am not going to kill you. Otherwise, I would have allowed these assassins to shoot you.”

“Very well,” de Lacy conceded, though he was still distrustful.

Archer raised his brows. “Maybe we will stop talking and help this wounded man?”

“The king!” Roger de Lacy exclaimed. “We have to find the king.”

Archer shrugged eloquently. “Sorry, I haven’t seen the king. I don’t even know how he looks like.”

Meanwhile, Sheriff Vaisey was laughing, anticipating the moment of his ultimate triumph. After he had stabbed Carter, Vaisey had made his way along the road. The sheriff had gasped in awe as he had seen King Richard on his white horse, riding without any escort from Imuiz. His hand gripping his Saracen recurved bow, like Robin’s, the sheriff stopped in the middle of the street and stared at the escaping king.

Vaisey was _close to the completion of his divine mission – murdering King Richard_. The king’s sacred life was in grave danger. The tragedy was in the air, enhanced by the murderous silence in Imuiz.

"This is so sweet! King Richard is alone, and nobody can save the lion! Robin Hood doesn’t love his precious king!” an enthusiastic Vaisey proclaimed in a sing-song voice. He smiled smugly, his jeweled tooth gleaming. “Long live King Richard!" he promulgated in a mocking tone. Then he drew an arrow across his bow, and a cunning smile curved his lips. “No!” he sneered, aiming at the king’s back and letting the arrow loose. “Roar in pain, the glorious Lionheart! You will be slain by me, Lord Peter Vaisey!”

King Richard didn’t sense the danger. As his horse reached a narrow, sandy alley, he roared in pain as the sheriff’s arrow struck him in the shoulder. A sharp pain coursed through his right shoulder, and he howled with pain. Richard’s horse continued riding through the deserted courtyard until it stopped in the middle. The wounded king slipped off of the saddle and landed on the sand. Aware of the attack on himself, Richard thought that he was an utter fool to ride alone as he remembered Robin’s offer. He moaned in pain, the pain in his shoulder so intense and persistent sharp that he couldn't breathe for a moment, but he didn’t pass out; his head was spinning, his heart making double pounds, his eyes shut.

Guy was awoken from his slumber by the king’s loud howl of pain. He slowly opened his eyes and gazed around; he lay on his back alone on the sand. He frowned, puzzled as to why he was still alive if Hood had overpowered him. He was hugely relieved to discover that his headache wasn’t as bad as he supposed it could have been. He blinked his eyes against the sun, the blaze of brilliance reminding him that he was still in Acre on the regicide mission, and he had to save the lives of Marian and Isabella as well.

With effort, Guy lifted his body into a sitting position. Blinking against the glare of the sun, he put a hand on his forehead, brushing away some beads of sweat. He made himself stand up, feeling dizzy and wobbling for a moment. He slipped through the narrow passage between the two buildings, wondering who had screamed so agonizingly. He picked up his pace, walking in the direction, from where the sound had come.

When someone’s distant, high-pitched scream had coursed through the hot air, Little John, Marian, and Isabella had all shuddered in dread. Clearly, it was not a scream of rage – it was a howl of pain. Each of them felt fear flare up in their chests, wondering who had been wounded or killed.

“I am leaving,” Marian broke the silence.

Leaning forward, John grabbed her forearm and gently pulled her toward him. “Marian, please wait here. Robin was worried about you, and he instructed me to guard you and Lady Isabella.”

Marian raised her chin defiantly. “Something serious happened. I have to go there and check.” She was stubborn and unwilling to see reason, blinded as by her own inspiration to save someone today.

John shook his head. “Robin ordered that–”

“I am not Robin’s soldier. I don’t obey his commands,” Marian confronted him.

Marian wrenched out of John’s grip and ran out the building, ignoring John’s pleas to stay and obey Robin’s commands. She was haunted by demons of apprehension and despondency; she had to act.

John looked troubled. “Marian is right. Something important happened.”

“Definitely,” Isabella agreed. She almost finished untying her hands, which she had been doing since the moment John had forgotten his knife in another building where they had initially intended to hide but then had left as there had been too many Saracen assassins around in that part of the town.

John sighed. “I fear someone was severely hurt.”

A triumphal Isabella smiled as she stretched her hands ahead; her wrists were hurting from being bound for so long. She stood up and grabbed John’s staff, and began to slowly approach him from the back. She stopped behind him, took a swing, and hit him so hard on the back of his head that it sent him to the floor.

 Isabella stepped cautiously around John’s large form sprawled on the floor. She smiled cunningly and assessed the situation, “You are a large man, Little John, though I don’t know why they call you ‘Little’. But you are very foolish.” Her smile widened.  “I have my own plans in this hellish land which I hate. Nobody will distract me from my mission. Everything else is irrelevant.” Then she exited the building.

§§§

Marian ran towards the large courtyard, in the direction where she had heard the scream. The landscape was morbid – only tediously monochromatic, yellow-tinted sand and dilapidated, white Arabic buildings. She stopped as she turned round the corner and found herself in the deserted courtyard. Her gaze fixed on the injured Crusader, an arrow protruding out of his back. Her heart was beating violently, threatening to blow up her chest as she realized who the warrior was – the King of England himself.

Without a second thought, Marian rushed to the wounded monarch. Maybe there was a reason that she was in the Holy Land. Maybe she was destined to save the king. Robin saved the king’s life many times, and she admitted that she craved to do the same. There was a sort of competition between them after Robin had unmasked her in the Nightwatchman’s disguise. Her mission was to save the king and England.

Marian noticed that Richard moved his left arm, a sign that he was alive. She sighed with relief, but then terror crept into her heart as she saw her husband, Sir Guy of Gisborne, his sword raised up. As Guy strode towards the fallen monarch, Marian ran towards him, her heart thumping like that of a scared rabbit.

"Guy!" Marian called in a desperate voice. "Guy!"

Gisborne frowned at the sight of Marian, displeased that she was there. He didn't want her to see how he would take the king’s life. He had to remove her from his way, even if he couldn't remove her from the square. He had a task to fulfill – to kill King Richard and protect Marian and Isabella from Vaisey; he had no doubt that Vaisey would carry out a threat of killing the two women without any hesitation.

“Marian,” Guy murmured to himself. He was fascinated with Marian’s beauty: in her long white dress, contrasted with her dark brown hair, and he thought that she looked like a pure angel among death.

Guy advanced forward, and Marian ran towards him. Guy glanced at the vulnerable king, but he didn’t feel thrilled at the thought of committing regicide. His spirits plummeted, and his heart was beating wildly in his chest; he found it difficult to catch his breath. Even his broadsword suddenly seemed too heavy to hold it and all the more strike a fatal blow, taking Richard’s life.

Marian stopped in her tracks before her husband and stretched out her hands defensively, blocking his path to the king. “Please stop! Stop!" she beseeched. "It is over, Guy!"

"Get out of the way!" Gisborne shouted.

Marian took a step back, closer to King Richard. Her hands were shaking, but she was determined to guard the king until Robin and the others arrived in the courtyard. She was also immensely angry at Guy who wanted to commit regicide despite her many pleas to stop before it was too late.

Marian locked her eyes with Guy’s. “All this time I have been fighting for England," she announced passionately. "Do you think I am going to let you kill England?"

Gisborne felt rage coursing through his veins. He slashed the blade through the air so that the sunlight glimmered off its steel. "Marian, get out of the way!" he commanded, sending her a fulminating look.

“I cannot let you kill King Richard!” She didn't move when Guy took two steps forward and pointed the broadsword at her. "Guy, don't commit an act of high treason! Stop before it is too late!"

"Get out of the way!" he bellowed.

She didn’t even flinch under his glare. "If you want to kill the king, you will have to kill me first!"

A perplexed Guy shook his head in denial. "No, no."

"I won't let you kill the king and England!" she persisted.

Guy decided to coax her into stepping aside. "Marian, King Richard is not England. He is a weak, foolish, selfish, and bad king. He abandoned his people to fight in this godforsaken land. He doesn't care about England and his people. Your judgment is incorrect. England will be better without Richard."

Marian made an effective riposte, "England will be worse with Prince John on the throne! King Richard is the rightful King of England, and he is a fairer ruler than his brother can ever be.”

"Quiet!" Gisborne's voice boomed. "You don't understand, do you? I must kill the king! Otherwise, Vaisey will kill you and Isabella! I cannot allow the sheriff to murder my wife and my sister!"

"Vaisey has already tried to kill Isabella and me,” she declared, stressing every word.

“No, no.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“It is true, Guy. The sheriff dragged us into the desert. We were tied up to the poles together with Robin’s friends. The sheriff said that he wanted Isabella and me dead because he doesn’t tolerate divided loyalties. He hates that our relationship has made you softer and kinder.”

Guy looked as if he were struck with a physical blow. “I don’t believe you.”

Nascent hope rose in her, and Marian expostulated, “Guy, listen to me. You cannot kill the King of England out of loyalty to the heartless criminal who nearly killed your wife and your sister today.”

“But you are alive…” His voice faltered.

“Robin and his friends saved us from the desert and brought us here,” she explained.

His jaw dropped in awe. “Robin Hood saved you?”

“I am alive only thanks to Robin,” she confirmed. “Otherwise, I would have died in the desert.”

Guy regarded Marian with distrustful eyes. "I cannot believe you. Vaisey is the only man who truly cared for me. He helped me survive in Normandy, and I owe him a lot. He would have never betrayed me.”

Marian overwhelmed with vehement rage, and all rational thought came to an abrupt halt. Any sort of careless word was dangerous right now, but she didn’t care about that. A whole host of emotions was bubbling in her, and now she wanted to hurt Guy as much as he was hurting her with his obsession for power and wealth but more with his festering hatred for Robin. Now Guy was no longer her husband: to Marian, he seemed a cruel vulture circling over an injured pray now – King Richard.

The oceanic violence of Marian’s rage exploded into hurting words. “I am so disappointed in you. I have tried so hard to make you a good, decent man, but you always let me down.”

Guy stepped closer to her. Her conduct fanned his rage, but he was still trying to control himself. “We are going to get out of this. I am going to do this thing, and then I will have power beyond measure." He still held his sword up. "I will do this, and then we will be together.”

"I am so disappointed," she repeated, seething with anger. “Perhaps, I should have married Robin more than a year ago.” She dreamt of hurting him as much as his unwillingness to kill the sheriff hurt her.

Gisborne gasped in disbelief mingled with shock. "What?"

As Marian looked into his eyes that were like two blazing pools of demonic fire, she shuddered like a leaf in the wind. Something was broken between them at that moment; something changed in her. Guy was filled with the lethal darkness to the core, and she felt powerless to guide him to light from that inky darkness forever. With this realization, Marian was suddenly cognizant of the fact that whatever happened between them, the thread of passion that tied them to each other was broken. Guy was lost in a maze of self-loathing, self-hatred, and his crimes, and he was probably doomed to stay there forever.

Marian swiped away a fat tear with a fingertip, prohibiting herself from crying in his presence. Nothing could equal the bitterness that filled her, and she was tempted to inveigh against him, denominating him a murderous thug. Yet, she didn’t do that as words of a different truth came to her lips. " _Maybe I should have married Robin of Locksley, not you, Guy of Gisborne_. Then I wouldn’t have been so crestfallen now," she blurted out, laughing at him and herself; a strong wave of anger and despair overcame her, consuming her entire being. After a moment’s pause, she continued, “Robin loved me. He proposed to me, and I accepted. But then, on the day of Nottingham’s siege when Vaisey disappeared and Robin brought him back, I was so possessed by fear that I didn’t trust my innermost self, and so I married you.”

Guy paled like a ghost. “Hood proposed to you?”

“Yes, he did; I accepted his proposal,” she repeated, her cheeks burning with shame mingled with ire; at least, now Guy knew the truth. “I lost my hope that Robin would love me more than everything and everyone. I was jealous of him to England and King Richard, as Robin has always been utterly loyal to the king and England, while I selfishly wanted him to put his love for me above his convictions.”

King Richard lay on the sand, wounded and weak, but he didn’t lose his consciousness yet. Marian and Guy didn’t know that the king was listening attentively to their heart-to-heart conversation; otherwise, Marian wouldn’t have been so frank even despite her desire to hurt Guy.

Guy tossed his head violently to clear away the stunning effect of Marian’s confession; yet, it didn’t help. "No! No!" he cried out in an anguished voice. The downpour of the truth which came from his wife’s mouth was worse than the pain of the truth itself.

For a moment, Marian was terrified of him and lapsed into silence. Yet, she spoke again, as if an invisible force were pushing her to be completely frank with him. “I am sorry, Guy, but it is true. I wanted you to be only your own man, free from Vaisey and your demons. But I was naïve to think that you love me more than power. Now I see that you are doomed to darkness; you are like a lost sailor on a sinking ship.”

As he recovered from the shock, Guy spoke acidly. “You lied to me about a great many things.”

Marian gave a nod, her face somber. “And I am ashamed of myself.”

“You fooled me like the most pathetic man on earth!”

“I didn’t lie about my attitude to you!” Marian countered. “Everything else was real.” She didn’t say anything else about her feelings for him, for she still felt that something had ruined the thin thread that had tied them before the voyage to Acre. Nothing would ever be as it had been before them.

“No, you are a liar. You and Hood…” Guy’s eyes darkened with rage. “You were lovers after his return.”

Marian stared into Guy's eyes. “It is also true. I accepted Robin’s marriage proposal, and, at first, I didn’t know that I would marry you,” she defended herself. "I am sorry, Guy.”

Gisborne's eyes widened. "No!"

She shivered as she saw the deep hurt and anger in Guy’s eyes. Wings of shame fluttered in her chest, and she felt the urge to be entirely frank with him. "I am ashamed that I deceived you, but I couldn’t tell you the truth for many reasons. And I also really wanted to change you and be with you.” She sighed. “But you, Guy, have no right to blame me for everything. You are not innocent, for you also lied to me.”

Guy was shaking with rage. “You are a liar!”

Marian held his gaze, blocking his way to Richard. “Guy, I lied to you, but I never killed anyone. You once attempted regicide, but you failed because Robin stopped you in time. Now you are again trying to commit this grave crime.” She sighed deeply; she was disappointed more than ever. “Unlike you, Robin would have never tried to kill an injured man, all the more the King of England.”

Guy felt hot anger piercing him to the core, to the depths of his heart. His entire being was full of guilt and pain since the day of the conflagration at Gisborne Manor; it was like a foul ague that had infected him years ago. But now his pain was so intense and so much stronger that the world was collapsing around him. It was worse than to be mortally wounded by one of Robin’s arrows. His face contorted in white fury, and he blustered, “You fooled me! You played with my feelings and manipulated me!” Feeling an impulse to strike her with his sword for all her treachery, Guy made a small step forward.

“Marian!” Robin shouted as he appeared at the opposite side of the courtyard.

A white-feathered arrow whizzed through the air and struck Guy’s sword in the hilt; the weapon slipped from Guy’s hand and tumbled to the sand.

Gisborne turned to face his sworn foe. “Hood, again you,” he hissed like a cobra.

“Have you gone mad, Gisborne?” Robin asked wrathfully, with a touch of tremendous anxiety in his cold and steady tone. Holding his Saracen recurved bow, he was aiming an arrow at Gisborne in case Guy made a hasty movement. “Are you going to kill both the king and Marian?”

Guy’s anger suddenly slackened, and shame filled him for his desire to lash out at Marian with his sword. “I… didn’t mean to kill her...” Guy cast his gaze down, on his boots.

An unrelenting Robin voiced his observation, “Don’t say the falsehood, Gisborne – I don’t believe you. You meant to kill King Richard, and you even were about to stab Marian. I must admit that you didn’t control yourself when she told you the truth.”

Guy raised his head and gazed at Robin. “The words she was saying… They drove me to the brink of insanity,” he confessed. “But I swear that I didn’t want to murder her.”

 “Robin, Guy is telling you the truth,” Marian persuaded Robin, her eyes full of fear which she could no longer mask. “Guy was blinded by rage, but I don’t believe that he would have murdered me. He didn’t raise his sword at me. He only took a step forward.” She wasn’t sure that it was true, for she had seen the sanguine glint in Guy’s eyes only a few moments ago; of course, Robin didn’t need to know that.

Robin was still cautious and alarmed. “Very well, I want to believe you.”

Marian flashed a bleak smile, sighing with relief. “Thank you, Robin.”

Robin’s glowered at Guy. “Gisborne, take several steps from Marian. I don’t trust you.”

“I am not going to obey you, Hood,” Guy growled.

Robin tapered his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Then I will kill you, Gisborne.”

“Robin, don’t do that,” Marian beseeched. “Please don’t harm Guy!”

Guy nodded. He saw the fierce resoluteness in Robin’s eyes, and he took several steps aside.

Guy felt as though he had fallen in hell as the moment he had dreaded for so long finally came. He stood face-to-face with Marian and Robin, and now he could hear the truth from Hood. His eyes frantically darted between Marian and Robin. “Marian and you, Hood, had been lovers before she married me.”

“Marian and I were betrothed twice,” Robin responded truthfully, still targeting Gisborne. “Gisborne, Marian chose you over me. I accept her choice and respect it.” He drew a deep breath, and a dazzling smile effloresced on his features. “And it doesn’t matter now. I am a married man, and I am faithful to my wife.”

Marian felt her heart sinking into her throat. She would have been set upon causing amorous skirmishes under normal circumstances – if the king hadn’t been wounded and witnessed the scene. She had endured much pain and distress since the news of Robin’s marriage, but now she experienced the ravages of furious jealousy at the thought of Robin renouncing their relationship in favor of his wife.

Guy shot Robin a skeptical glance. “You don’t care for Marian anymore, Hood?”

“I do care and I always will. I cannot deny this,” Robin affirmed sincerely. “Yet, Gisborne, I am not a threat to you. I have accepted Marian’s choice.” He smiled breezily. “I am happy in my marriage.”

The king moved his arm, and streaks of sharp pain ripped through his shoulder and back. He groaned aloud, his body trembling all over. For a long time, he had been still, suppressing his moans and listening to the long conversation between Guy and Marian. He rejoiced that Robin had come, fearing that Gisborne would probably kill him despite Marian’s brave attempts to stop the regicide.

A concerned Robin stared at King Richard. Their eyes met, and Robin saw the fear in the king’s eyes. He knew that he had to save Richard, and he would even sacrifice himself to let his liege live.

Robin flicked his gaze to his enemy. “Guy of Gisborne, it is time to stop this madness,” he declared with finality. “You are not killing King Richard. You are killing nobody.”

“I… I don’t know,” Guy hesitated.

Marian grabbed Guy’s sword and stepped backwards, looking at her husband, her face ghostly pale. “Guy, Robin is right. It is time to stop. I know that you don’t want to kill the king.”

“It is so strange,” Guy said hesitantly, his face tormented, as if he wished he could take back all the bad things he had done. “I don’t know why I don’t want to kill the king. I am not sure that I would have killed him if I could. I was more prepared to kill Richard last time, although I hesitated, but not now… I don’t know. But I had to try… because Vaisey had you, Marian, and my sister. And Vaisey promised me power.”

 An exhilarated Marian exclaimed, “You won’t work for Vaisey anymore!”

Robin let out a tense smile. “Forget about the sheriff! Vaisey is done.”

“La di da di da! Who said that it is over?” Vaisey‘s sing-song voice resonated.

They swiveled, and their eyes instantly revealed horror. The king also turned his head, searching for the source of the voice, cursing in his mind. Sheriff Vaisey stood on the opposite part of the courtyard, holding his scimitar at Isabella of Gisborne’s throat.

Vaisey grinned fiendishly and broke into a venomous tirade. “Did you miss me, my friends? Whom do we have here? A wounded lion, a noble hero, a repentant sinner, and a hypocritical leper! This is so sweet and so great!" He laughed menacingly. “It is not over! Our little game is only beginning! If you make a move or do something stupid, I will slash the throat of this little Gisborne missy!” He laughed, pressing blade tighter to Isabella’s throat. “Let’s give this leper a bloody leprosy!”

§§§

Robin, Guy, and Marian stood rooted, staring in a pained daze at a sneering Vaisey who was holding the blade at Isabella’s throat. Isabella looked terrified, her face pleading everyone for help.

“Blah-di-blah-di-blah! Don’t you want to say something to your Sheriff? Did your mouths turn so dry in the heat that you have lost your ability to speak?” Vaisey broke the silence, a wry smile on his face.

“Release Isabella!” Guy said in a commanding voice. “Release my sister!”

"Gisborne, you betrayed me!" the sheriff screeched as he directed a ferocious glare at Guy. "I offered you the whole world, but you betrayed me after everything I had done for you. You could kill the pitiful king, you were so close. But you chose a leper, not me. I will never forgive you.”

“My lord, please release Isabella. My sister did nothing wrong to you. She didn’t try to hurt you or ruin your plans. Please don’t hurt her,” Guy appealed to his master, a touch of panic in his voice. His gaze lingered at Isabella. “She has nothing to do with our… disagreement.”

“Vaisey has already tried to kill us today,” Marian accused.

“I told you that I hate lepers, Gizzy. But you chose your lepers, not me and power,” the sheriff snarled.

“Vaisey, don’t hurt her,” Robin said. “Stop! Release her!”

“Put your weapons down. Or I will kill her,” the sheriff threatened.

Marian dropped Guy’s sword to the sand. Robin put his bow and his scimitar on the ground too.

“You must release her! Now!” Guy demanded.

Vaisey’s lips stretched in an evil grin. “Wait, Gizzy, my boy. Be patient! You know that I am not a fool, and I want to have something… that is yours… and also partly Hood’s.” His gaze shifted to Marian, and he laughed. “I offer a fair deal! I want Lady Marian in exchange for Lady Isabella!”

“What?” a dumbfounded Guy barked.

“Vaisey, you cannot be serious,” Robin murmured in a shaking voice.

The sheriff flicked his gaze to Marian, grinning wickedly. “My dear missy, Lady Marian, I swear that I will slash Lady Isabella’s throat if you don’t swap places with Gizzy’s little sister. Do you want to have her blood on your hands? My missy, don’t disappoint me! You are usually so compassionate!”

“No!” Guy shouted. “This is not going to happen!”

“Wait, my lord!” Marian addressed the sheriff. “I am coming, my lord.”

“Marian, stop! No!” Robin admonished.

But Marian didn’t listen. She started walking towards the sheriff, ignoring Guy’s desperate pleas to stop and Robin’s threats to Vaisey that he would pay for his crimes. Vaisey only snickered at them, as if he had known something they didn’t know. As Marian came to Vaisey, he swiftly released Isabella and took Marian hostage, hitting her on her buttocks and then pressing the blade to her throat.

Isabella didn’t come to Robin or Guy. Instead, she circled the sheriff and stopped at Vaisey’s right. Her face brightened, and a satisfied smile spread across her features. She had fulfilled Prince John’s mission: the prince didn’t need both Vaisey and Gisborne and had sent her to Nottingham to check loyalties of the sheriff and his henchman. Isabella had played her role well, and now she would request that Prince John give her the long-awaited reward– the death of her husband. On the way to Acre, she had quickly realized that Guy was more likely to be disloyal to the prince, and that made her happy because she craved to bring Guy down.

At first, Isabella had been shocked with the prince’s idea to make herself the sheriff’s prisoner right before the scheduled voyage to Acre, with the calculation that, most likely, she would be taken hostage and would be forced to travel to Acre in chains. The plan had been that she would watch Guy and Vaisey together and figure out who was more truly loyal. It was an insane plan, but now Isabella didn’t regret that she had traveled to the Holy Land: she met Robin of Locksley, whose handsome appearance and charm caused her heart to flutter in her chest; she saw the wounded King Richard, a rare event in history; and God gave her a chance to take her revenge against her brother whom she hated wholeheartedly.

“What does that mean?” Guy inquired, pulling his eyes from Vaisey to his sister. “Isabella, come here.”

“And why should I, Guy?” Isabella gave him an arrogant look. “You are an utter fool, brother.”

Marian looked confused. “Isabella, what are you doing? Vaisey tried to kill you today!”

Isabella sniggered. “You are an idiot, Marian.”

Robin eyed Isabella, his eyes taking in her brutish smile. Vaisey was also laughing uproariously. All of that registered in his mind, and he surmised that Isabella had been Vaisey’s ally from the very beginning or switched sides later. The sheriff’s last trick gave Robin a perfect understanding of how much he had underestimated Vaisey’s wickedness and how right Richard was in his conclusion about the sheriff.

Robin’s reaction was bound to be dispassionate. “Bravo, Lady Isabella! You deserve my undying respect! You are bold and cunning beyond measure,” Robin said emphatically, his mouth twisting in hash, mocking lines. “You fooled Gisborne, Marian, and me. Who sent you to Acre? Prince John, your lover?”

“Lord Huntingdon, you are a smart and intelligent man,” Isabella replied in a honeyed voice. “I am sorry that we have met under such… delicate circumstances. I think we could have been friends.”

“I doubt that, my lady,” Robin contradicted. “I am against regicide in any form.”

Isabella let out a small laugh. “When Lord Vaisey delivered us into the desert to die, he didn’t know the truth about my relationship with Prince John.”

“What did Prince John want from Vaisey and me?” Guy needed to know.

“Prince John wanted to check your loyalties,” Robin answered instead of Isabella; he fastened his gaze on Guy. “Gisborne, John doesn’t need the sheriff and you, his master-at-arms, because any henchman always turns on his master sooner or later. The prince needs only one of you.”

“Lord Huntingdon, you are a stark contrast to my thick-headed brother,” Isabella said. “By the time we arrived in this town, I had already known who is more likely to be disloyal to Prince John.” She tore her gaze from the sheriff and stared at Guy, her eyes flashing with disdain.

Marian felt Vaisey’s foul breath, shivering in disgust. “How did you find the sheriff?”

“I wished a good night to that stupid big man; then I found Lord Vaisey,” Isabella continued. “I showed the sheriff the ring with his insignia, which John gave me as the proof of my association with him.” She sniggered. “And then we came to an understanding.”

Robin inferred, “You are one of the Black Knights.”

Isabella smiled at Robin. “Very true.”

“Lady Isabella, you are an amazingly cunning lady! I like this in you!” The sheriff began to laugh, the sound a nasty cackle. “I would have never dragged you into the desert if I knew the truth.”

“Traitor,” Marian spat, surveying Isabella contemptuously.

“Release Marian! Release her!” Guy shrilled.

The sheriff laughed sardonically. “I will release her, but only if you grant me my most cherished wish!"

Robin’s face was blank, but inside his heart was tearing apart in pain mingled with panic. “Vaisey, what are your conditions for Marian’s release?”

“What do you want, Vaisey?” Guy’s voice was edged with mingled pain and shock. “I will do everything for you. But please don’t kill Marian.”

Vaisey sneered. “I know that Gisborne will probably do that… but not… Hood…”

Robin’s patience was running thin. “Vaisey, tell us what exactly you want.”

The sheriff laughed nastily. “Kill King Richard,” he ordered.

Robin raised a quizzical brow. "What did you say, Vaisey?"

" _Kill King Richard, one of you, my treacherous Gizzy, or you, my sweet Hoodie_ ," Vaisey demanded. His blade scraped a superficial cut on Marian’s neck, and it began to bleed slightly. He pressed the blade to Marian’s neck, a couple of blood droplets appearing on her skin.  “ _Or Marian will die_. This dear leper has a wonderful skin, like the finest alabaster. It would be a great pity if she gets some scars.”

“Never,” Robin replied, taking a deep breath, horrified to the deepest depths of his heart and his soul.

Richard stared at Robin in absolute shock as he heard the sheriff’s words. Like Robin, he concluded that he had failed to estimate Vaisey’s wickedness. He did fear the outcome of the regicide attempt.

"It is not a joke, my dear friend Robin," Vaisey emphasized.

“I think our Lord Sheriff is not kidding,” Isabella interposed, her face turning serious.

Vaisey veered his gaze to Robin whose face was torn between ire and bewilderment. He laughed so hard that Marian gasped for air as the blade was now pressed tighter to her throat. “Hood, I am not kidding you. I want the Lionheart dead, and he will be dead. Gisborne or you, Hood, will kill the legendary lion.”

“Vaisey, did the heat deprive you of an ability to think rationally?” Robin declared in a steady, controlled voice. He had to use all his self-control in order not to show his panic that had swept over him as soon as the sheriff verbalized his demand. “You are losing. Your assassins are dropping dead like dead flies: by now, my people and I have already killed many of them, if not everyone. I myself killed several Saracens. The Crusaders will come here any minute, and you will have no time to flee.”

A smile curled the sheriff’s lips. “I don’t doubt that you can kill, Hoodie of Locksley. I have already seen Robin the Crusader, not the peace-loving and weak Robin but the bloodthirsty Robin who slaughtered my guards near the cave and on the Great North Road.”

"Prince John is puzzled as to Robin Hood’s actions. He considers Lord Huntingdon a strange man,” Isabella intervened. “Indeed, he killed many Saracens. Some people say that he has the blood of hundreds of the heathens on his hands. Yet, in England, he was playing a peace-seeker.”

Sheriff Vaisey narrowed his eyes. “And now it is high time for Hood to show how he have learned to kill at war,” he mocked. “Hood, kill your precious King Richard to save your leper Marian.”

Robin’s visage was imbued with unutterable loathing. He tried to dissuade the sheriff. “Vaisey, think about my offer – you will lose anyway. If you let Marian go now, I will let you escape from Imuiz, and you will have a chance to save your worthless life.”

The sheriff laughed, shaking his head. “No, Hood, you won’t sway me from my course of action. I am too close. I won’t go back.” His gaze slid to Guy. “Gisborne, I have heard your little chat. Your little leper wife is a passionate lass! And how do you feel about the realization that your leper has been using you for so long? She was with Hood and then ran to your arms.” He laughed. “Hood and you, Gizzy, are pathetic.”

“It is none of your concern, Lord Vaisey,” Marian hissed, fury sweeping through her. “Guy, don’t listen to him. He is trying to provoke you. He likes humiliating you.”

Vaisey pressed the blade to Marian’s throat so hard that she gasped for air. “Gizzy, do you love your wife? Or do you want her to pay for loving both Hood and you, my boy? If you are willing to save your wife from death, from the tragedy of being laid to eternal rest into the sand, then murder the king.”

Guy grabbed his sword. “I will kill King Richard.”

"Stop right now, Gisborne! I won’t allow you to kill the king!" Robin’s voice boomed through the air. His mind raced through alternatives: he couldn’t kill Richard, and he couldn’t let the sheriff kill Marian. He was in a maze of some sort, where every turn led to another wall and a dead end; he couldn't find a solution.

Guy strode forward, heading to the king. “I don’t care for the king! I want Marian alive and safe!”

“No, Guy, don’t do that! Don’t kill the king!” Marian implored.

Robin blocked Guy’s path and announced sternly, “I won’t allow you to murder our liege.”

Guy shot him a scornful look. “You don’t care for Marian and anyone else, Hood. You love only King Richard and glory,” he voiced his thoughts. “You have always been a bloody hypocrite.”

Robin gripped Guy’s forearm, looking into his eyes. “You cannot take the king’s life.”

“I will do anything to save Marian. If I have to get rid of the king, you, or anybody else, I will do that to save her,” Guy protested. “Unlike you, I am a responsible man.”

“You don’t understand,” Robin continued in a lower tone, his eyes revealing perplexity and despair. “You cannot murder Richard. You don’t know the truth.”

Guy’s lips twisted into a grimace of agony. “What do I have to know?”

“Richard is your half-brother,” Robin informed. “ _You cannot kill your own brother. It is blasphemy_.”

Guy’s visage went snowy white in shock and terror. The priest from the small church in the suburbs of Nottingham had told him that he would commit an act of blasphemy if he had killed King Richard. If Roger of Gisborne had confessed his sins to that priest several days before the fire, he could have told him something about Guy’s true parentage. But he didn’t want to believe that it was true; he shook his head, as if it could chase his disorganized and dark thoughts away. “No. It cannot be,” tumbled from Guy’s lips.

Robin nodded. “Your mother, Lady Ghislaine, was King Henry’s mistress. She got pregnant by him, and then Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine found a husband for her, Sir Roger of Gisborne.”

Guy’s jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened with emotion. “I knew that, but I am Roger of Gisborne’s son!”

“No! Your mother was hastily married off to Sir Roger to save her reputation,” Robin elaborated.

Guy felt his head spinning. “But how do you know so many details?”

“Richard himself told me about that,” Robin answered.

Guy looked shocked. “Oh, my Lord.”

“That’s why you cannot kill him,” Robin summed up.

“Gisborne! Hood! How long do I have to wait?” Vaisey’s venomous voice spoke. “I understand that you have to decide who will make the lion bellow in pain, but I have no time.” He laughed viciously. “The sun is dangerous for my skin, and I hate tan because it doesn’t suit me!”

“Then kill the king,” Guy said quietly, his gaze locked with Robin’s.

Robin feigned bewilderment. “I beg your pardon?”

“You, Hood, kill the king,” Guy clarified.

A shaken Robin turned around and looked at King Richard. Their eyes met, and Robin put all his love, devotion, and pain into his gaze. Silently, he begged the king for assistance, for a plan, half-a-plan, or something else. The king gave Robin an uncertain glance, and Robin turned away.

Robin flicked his gaze to the sheriff. “Vaisey, are you serious?” he asked, his tone sodden with doubt.

“Hood and Gizzy, I am tired, and I have no time. Either one of you will kill the king, or I will finish off Marian,” Vaisey delivered, his blade again scratching the tender skin of Marian’s neck. “There are only two choices. Life or death. The king or Marian. Gisborne or Hood,” he added in a philosophical undertone.

“You should decide,” Isabella interjected. “Who will kill the lion?”

“Hood or Gisborne?” Vaisey laughed maliciously. “Or our beloved leper Marian dies!”

A deathly silence settled over the square, and all that could be heard was their ragged breathing and King Richard’s quiet moans. Leaden clouds gathered angrily on the horizon, piling up in purple masses and promising a storm, and the wind began to blow from the desert.

Guy and Robin stood rooted; they both were too shocked to speak as there were cornered.

§§§

In the distant part of the town, the king’s supporters – Roger de Lacy, Archer, Will, Djaq, and Allan – were embroiled in the long and savage battle with the assassins hired by Vaisey and his Turkish allies. As soon as they finished off several assassins and were about to start searching for the king, they were attacked again. Lifeless bodies of the assassins were scattered all around, and the sand was drenched with crimson blood. The clash of swords in the air and arrows whizzed back and forth.

Lying on the ground, Archer was shooting Vaisey’s assassins, grinning mischievously as his arrows, each of them with red razor-sharp arrowheads, slammed into the Saracens who fell dead one after another. He had made up his mind that he wouldn’t allow Vaisey to kill the King of England and Robin Hood. He had no sympathy for King Richard and the Crusaders, but he had seen what the sheriff’s vicious acts of violence and cruelty, and he despised Vaisey; he didn’t wish to help the madman kill innocents. He also was impressed with Robin – with his half-brother’s fighting skills and loyalty to the king.

Archer watched Roger de Lacy effortlessly killing assassins, cutting life out of a Saracen and immediately turning to another. De Lacy was like a god of war with a sword, his fighting style harsh, gracious, bloody, and well-practiced due to the constant fighting with the heathens. Archer was stunned with the look on de Lacy’s face as the other man slit a man’s throat or plunged his sword into an enemy’s heart: Roger’s gaze was sharp, blank, and cold, and a small smile was hovering over his lips as the sight of his victim’s agony.

Clearly, de Lacy enjoyed the brutal fighting, which Archer couldn’t understand in spite of being a formidable fighter himself and having a great knowledge about exotic weapons from the East. As he heard from Vaisey that de Lacy was younger than Robin Hood, Archer estimated that the hellish warrior was only twenty-four years old, and such bloodlust at such a young age kind of scared Archer.

When he was out of arrows, Archer unsheathed his long Saracen sword and charged into the battle. He lunged at his enemy from the right, his sword clanging violently against his opponent's strong parry. Archer swirled his sword around in a circle and made an unexpected violent lunge against the Saracen. He began a new wild assault on the Saracen, surprising him with complicated types of blows and their combinations, and his adversary was utterly confused as to what to expect from his young rival. Then Archer swung his sword in a powerful diagonal blow and skewed his opponent across his stomach.

Archer brought his sword up in a quick and wild assault, then transforming it into a downward blow aimed at his enemy’s chest. The Saracen lunged, but Archer ducked and then performed a sideways swipe to parry a diagonal blow. The Saracen turned away from a blow, but he didn’t notice Archer’s sideways blow that flung him off balance and sent him toppling sideways. As the man lay on his back, Archer drove his sword into the man’s chest; the Saracen gurgled with blood and closed his eyes forever.

“Fabulous swordplay,” Roger de Lacy commented as he approached Archer from the back.

“Thank you,” Archer responded, staring at the corpse.

De Lacy easily distinguished a wealth of emotions which rushed through Archer’s head and played across the other man’s handsome face – triumph and relief, mingled with anguish and wistfulness.

“You haven’t killed many people in your life,” de Lacy asserted.

“I never fought in Outremer.” Archer drew a deep breath and expelled it noisily, then inhaled again, sucking the air into his lungs as hard as he could. “And I don’t like bloodshed on a wide scale.”

Will and Djaq fought against three assassins back to back. Will attacked their adversaries, holding his axe in his left hand and his sword in his right hand; that allowed him to quickly incapacitate or kill their enemies. Djaq lunged at one of the Saracens, parrying and blocking his blows; the necessity to kill her countrymen abhorred her, and she consoled herself with the fact that the assassins were their enemies.

Allan was fighting with the Saracens, cursing their adroit and swift fighting style that unpredictable and, hence, frightening. His opponents were so skilled that Allan often thought he would be dead in the next second; twice de Lacy saved his life by killing those who could overpower Allan. He had to remember all tricks and some blows Robin had taught him when he had been Robin Hood’s man. He dreamt of swapping his broadsword for a curved scimitar like Robin’s or Roger’s.

Separated from Djaq in the battle, Will was battling simultaneously with two Saracens. He plunged his sword into the heart of one assassin, then turned around and slashed the throat of the second attacker. An arrow flew past him, and in an instant, another arrow struck Will in his forearm. He cried out in pain and staggered backwards, startled and stunned. A hail of arrows flew in Will’s direction, and Allan dragged him away right before an arrow cut through the air and almost hit the astonished carpenter.

“You saved my life. Thank you,” Will told Allan with a smile.

Allan held Will close to himself. “You are welcome, mate. Have I been forgiven for my betrayal?”

“Yes, you are,” Will responded with a warm smile. “Just don’t do this again.”

Allan shook his head. “Oh, no, I won’t. Mark my words.”

Will retrieved an arrow out of his forearm. “Yeah.”

“How are you?” Allan looked concerned.

Will shrugged off his concern. “It is nothing. Just a scratch.”

De Lacy raised his silver scimitar and rushed at one of his enemies. The blades crossed, every blow being so powerful and fierce that the clash of metal literally vibrated through both combatants' ears. He beheaded his rival in one swing of his curved blade, turning to another opponent and easily bisecting him across the stomach. De Lacy was about to lunge at another Saracen when Archer’s arrows sliced into that man’s chest.

“Great shooting,” Roger de Lacy said admirably as he came to Archer. “Thank you.”

Archer shrugged, grinning. “Always welcome.”

“You are shooting like Robin of Locksley, my close friend,” de Lacy remarked in an amazed tone.

Archer raised his chin proudly. “I have a great archery talent. And, like you, Lord de Lacy, I also have a deadly hand with a sword.”

De Lacy waved a dismissive hand. “As for me, it is a combination of talent and practice. I fought for seven years in the Holy Land alongside the king.”

Archer sighed. “You are enjoying battles and bloodshed.”

De Lacy groaned in frustration as Archer’s statement unsettled him. “Not always. Being involved in awful and pointless bloodshed is very bad and not pleasant at all; that’s why I hate all my time in the Holy Land.” He let out a sigh. “But I am not like Robin who doesn’t like killing and often feels remorse.”

Archer smiled. “No, you are not Robin Hood.”

“I would never be like our Robin,” de Lacy assented. “You know you remind me of Robin.”

Archer laughed nervously. “Why?”

“Your cheeky grin and your pale blue eyes,” de Lacy pointed out, looking thoughtful. He then smiled flamboyantly and laughed merrily. “What a coincidence to have eyes of such a rare and lovely color!”

Soon they were again in the struggling mess of life and death. The battle resembled a chaotic massacre. Soon it was over, and the tired fighters stood watching the carnage, their faces grim and eyes empty.

"I am not being funny, but the Saracens are too dangerous," Allan complained as he sheathed his sword. “I thought that I would be dead by the end of the day.”

"They move fast and attack when you don’t expect that," Will shared his findings of the battle.

"They just fight differently as compared to Christians," de Lacy commented. "You will get used soon.”

Djaq made an attempt at jesting. "Oh, any battle is such a gamble.”

"No jokes, mates, but how is it possible to fight for many years in this hell?" Allan distasted everything in the Holy Land. “I would have committed suicide if I had spent here more than a year."

Archer gave half a shrug. "People get accustomed to living in any conditions."

De Lacy smiled tensely. "It was not the bloodiest skirmish I have seen here.”

All of a sudden, Much appeared from around the corner and hurried down the street, his head turning back and forth as he searched for Robin and the others. Much had lost Robin a long time ago somewhere in the labyrinth of alleys and streets as they had split up in search for King Richard.

 “Much!” Djaq called.

Much paused and stared at his friends, his eyes surveying the carnage around them. He ran towards them and stopped in his tracks. He inquired breathlessly, “King Richard! Robin! Have you seen them?”

“We thought that you are with Robin!” Will cried out in an alarmed voice.

Much was trying to catch his breath, his chest heavily going up and down. “Robin ordered to split up, and we lost each other. I tried to find him, but there are a great many streets in this accursed town. I lost my way, and I couldn’t find even the place where we had parted.”

“Have you seen the king?” de Lacy requested, his heart beating at a ferocious rate.

“Robin found the king who said that he would escape alone,” Much informed them.

Roger gritted his teeth as a look of helplessness and anxiety slid across his features. “As we recognized the trap, King Richard told me that he would leave this place. Then the battle unfolded, and we were separated, but he was with Edmund and Carter. Later we found Carter who was wounded by the sheriff. I assumed that the king was with Robin and Edmund…” His voice halted.

After they had found an injured Carter in the street, they had bandaged the wound with some rags to stop the bleeding. Carter had passed out from the pain and blood loss, and they had carried him to one of the buildings, hiding him inside and intending to come for him later, after the battle.

“Carter died?” Much asked, his face terrified.

“No, he is wounded, but he is alive,” Archer reported.

“Who are you?” Much‘s tone was harsh, his gaze suspicious.

Archer smiled charmingly. “Just Archer.”

“Much, it is alright. He has helped us a lot,” Allan soothed.

“Maybe Robin accompanied the king to the camp,” Will presumed.

Much shook his head. “No! Robin would have never left us in battle. He would have asked someone to take the king to Acre or to the camp.” He sighed. “And Edmund is dead…”

“Edmund died?” Roger questioned incredulously.

“Edmund… sacrificed… his life to save Robin,” Much barely managed to find the words to describe the tragedy. “We saw the king after Edmund had been killed.”

“Oh!” Djaq and Will shook their heads in shock and disbelief.

“Oh my goodness,” Allan muttered. “The king was absolutely alone! Why didn’t Robin make him stay?”

Archer was silent, his heart pounding harder; a cloud of anxiety shadowed his eyes. He regretted that he hadn’t annihilated Vaisey on the ship, so that other people wouldn’t have died today.

“That is not astonishing,” de Lacy explained in a tight voice. “This is King Richard’s typical behavior. Robin can try to persuade our liege and insist on his opinion, but if the king sets something in his head, he will do that. Even Robin’s influence over the king is limited, though it is great. Richard always makes his own decisions. If the king told Robin that he would flee alone, then he acted exactly as he said.”

In the next moment, Little John appeared in sight and cruised slowly down the street. As he noticed a group of his friends, he picked up his pace. “Thanks be to God! I have found you!” he exclaimed in most relieved tones. He covered the remaining distance between them in a few running steps.

“John, what are you doing here?” Djaq’s heart tightened in her breast. She tossed her head, as if shaking off a feeling of bad foreboding. “Robin ordered you to guard Marian and Lady Isabella!”

John ventured to explain, “We all heard a loud scream of pain or shock. Disregarding my pleas to stop, Marian ran away to see what had happened. Then Lady Isabella ambushed me.”

Allan sighed deeply. “What?”

“Lady Isabella hit me on the back of my head, and I passed out. I didn’t see her as she attacked me from the back,” John reported, looking obviously embarrassed. “I tried to find Isabella, Marian, or someone else, but it was too late. I didn’t see where they had gone; I was unconscious for so long.”

Will put a hand on John’s shoulder. “It is not your fault.”

“It is my fault!” John bawled out in a fit of anger at himself.

“What are we going to do?” Will asked.

For a long moment, they stared at Roger de Lacy and Much, expecting that they would assume the leadership. And what they saw discomfited them, for de Lacy’s expression was as grim as stormy clouds.

A somber Roger rubbed his chin in thought. “Isabella is Prince John’s mistress and, I am sure, his spy. Her actions prove that. She might have conspired with the sheriff and Gisborne.”

Archer uttered no word, his mind racing through the many months of their voyage to Acre. He could have never guessed that Isabella had been playing a knavish game, and he still wasn’t sure of it.

“We don’t know for sure,” Will noted.

“But someone screamed almost wildly,” John reminded them.

“King Richard or Robin…” Much trailed off as mortal dread sneaked into his heart.  Panic grappled with his control and clawed its way through his stomach. “Robin and Marian are alone with the sheriff, Gisborne, Lady Isabella, and the assassins, if some of them are still alive.” He looked back at de Lacy. “And the king?”

“It is possible that the king didn’t leave Imuiz,” de Lacy opined after a short pause. “We have to find the king and Robin. Now I care only for them.”

“We go find them,” John promulgated in a forthright manner.

“They are in the other part of Imuiz. It is far from here,” Djaq pointed out.

The after-battle hush accentuated the ghastly feelings that assaulted them after the revelation that Robin and King Richard were alone against the enemies. The same urgent and spine-chilling thought entered their minds: they had to find Robin and the king, hoping that if it wasn’t already too late. A premonition of some bereavement uncoiled itself in them, its frightful reality enhanced by the deathlike stillness in Imuiz.

They turned on their heels, their footsteps quick and wide; they prayed that Robin and the king were alive. “Let’s go! Hurry! Hurry!” de Lacy prompted them over and over again.

§§§

A murderous silence descended upon the courtyard, breached only by Vaisey’s giggles and the sound of splashing water in a fountain. A rising hot wind from the south and the east, which the Saracens called the khamsin, threatened to bring sandstorms to Imuiz and Acre.

Robin of Locksley looked around, his eyes stopping at the sheriff who was holding the blade at Marian’s throat. He saw some stains of crimson blood on Marian’s neck, for the blade had damaged her skin.

Robin sighed so heavily that he felt the waft of his breath on his face. He knew that the sheriff was absolutely serious in his intention to kill Marian and in his attempt to make either Guy or Robin murder King Richard in order to save Marian. Yet, Robin was sure that even if one of them had agreed to kill the king, Vaisey would murder Marian anyway. He didn’t believe the sheriff’s promises. He had to think harder.

Robin was a man who knew neither fear nor dread; he never hesitated and did incredible things to save his king, his comrades, and many civilians. He was known as the brave Captain Locksley in the Holy Land and as Robin Hood in England. Yet, as they stood in the courtyard, Robin did feel dread, fearing that they would fail and the sheriff would succeed in murdering the king or Marian. He had been frightened on the night of the Saracen attack when Gisborne had stabbed him but had failed to kill Richard. Yet, now a tidal wave of mortal dread inundated Robin, although he told himself that he was just too superstitious.

Robin looked at King Richard who gave Robin a long, mysterious look. His mind raced. He needed a plan, but he didn’t see anything in the king’s eyes, for Richard was as shocked as he himself was.

The king was indeed afraid. Robin was his most loyal subject long before he learned the truth about their blood ties, and he was convinced that Robin would never place his life in danger deliberately, but the situation was not normal. Robin was very fond of his wife, Richard thought, but he still loved Marian despite being disappointed in her. Robin's loyalty was put to a grievous test when he had to choose between his king and his love. Richard couldn’t shake off a feeling that he would probably lose the game.

Robin tossed his head. He knew that killing Richard wasn’t an option, and he would never be able to take the life of his king, friend, and half-brother. He turned to face the sheriff – he had a daredevil half-a-plan.

Robin stared at the sheriff. “I will kill King Richard. Go look how the Lionheart will draw his last breath.”

“Robin, don’t do that!" Marian thought that she realized where Robin’s mind was wandering. “All this time we have been fighting for England! We cannot let the sheriff kill England!"

“Hood… what…?” Guy stammered. A grimace worked its way onto his face.

“No, Robin, no!” Marian beseeched. “Let the king live!”

Vaisey smiled maliciously. “Don’t try to trick me, Hood.”

Robin looked around. The wind ruffled his hair, and far from them, somewhere in the desert, clouds of dust began to rise from the ground. Having spent a few years in the Holy land, Robin realized that a sandstorm was brewing. He had always been scared of sandstorms that brought terrors and could bury entire towns, villages, and armies. If a sandstorm could reach Imuiz, they had to urgently leave.

“Vaisey, I am not a fool. I always know when to accept my defeat and when to fight. You have cornered me,” Robin spoke with a look of feigned dismay. “I cannot allow you to murder Marian. I will kill the king, although I… will never forgive myself for the king’s murder.” He cleared his throat. “Take Marian and go with me. I think you will be happy to see me strike a final blow in the lion’s heart.”

A faint smile manifested on the sheriff’s face. “La di da di da! Let’s go now, Hood. When I learned how you killed Robert de Sablé, I knew that there is more in you than you show.”

Robin and Vaisey, holding Marian before himself with the blade at her throat, advanced towards King Richard; Isabella went after them, Guy also strode forward. The king’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what Robin planned to do, and he intercepted Robin’s resolute and rueful glance, his eyes blank and glassy. They stood almost near the king, Vaisey sneering and laughing, Marian silent, and Robin somber.

“Hood, make the lion howl with pain. Or I will kill her right now,” the sheriff threatened.

Filled with mortal dread and pleading with God for help, Robin raised his scimitar and pointed it at the king. Richard’s eyes glistened with colossal, chilly disdain, and tiny tears appeared in the corners of his eyes.

Richard expected a fatal blow, but nothing happened. Instead, Robin stepped closer to Vaisey, setting himself into a swift spin. Robin jumped and punched Vaisey in the gut, crushing his scimitar at the hilt of Vaisey’s blade with such a great strength that the sword fell to the sand and Vaisey was disarmed. Using the chance, Marian sprang aside, away from Vaisey, rushing towards Guy.

“Oh, Robin, you always have outrageously bold half-a-plan,” the king murmured to himself, smiling with satisfaction. Surprisingly, he didn’t pass out yet. The arrow was still protruding out of his back.

Vaisey’s lips thinned, his forehead marred with deep, furious frown. “I knew that you would never kill your precious king, Hood. You will pay for that.” He grabbed his scimitar from the sand.

Robin glanced at the sheriff, grinning defiantly. “Come on, Vaisey! Show me how brilliant your swordplay is, my friend. Attack me, if you haven’t forgotten how to fight with a sword.”

“Hood, you are mine,” the sheriff shot back in a minatory voice, his eyes full of inhuman hatred.

Robin swung his scimitar lightly from side to side, teasing the sheriff in a familiar, arrogantly infuriating manner. Glaring fiercely at his mortal foe, Vaisey gripped his own scimitar with both hands, and a primal scream of hatred burst from Vaisey’s mouth as he charged into the battle. A laughing Robin sprang forward, swiping his sword with practiced ease and grace, aiming at the sheriff’s midsection. Vaisey deflected a blow and lunged at Robin who spun and chopped down at his rival’s head.

Looking at the sheriff locked in the battle with Robin, Marian rushed to the king; Guy wished to help Robin deal with Vaisey and ambled towards the two combatants.

Isabella reached them in two strides. Holding Vaisey’s Saracen bow which he had used to shoot the king, she pointed an arrow at her brother and sister-in-law, her expression hateful.

“Don’t move, Guy. I can kill you,” Isabella warned.

“You cannot use a bow,” Guy presumed.

Isabella boasted, “You are wrong. Shall I demonstrate my archery skills?”

“Stop, Guy,” Marian urged, scared of the fierce, cruel determination in Isabella’s envenomed eyes.

Marian and Guy froze, watching Robin’s fight with the sheriff.

The sheriff jumped back out of the way, and Robin made a new assault on him, slicing towards the older man’s chest. The sheriff sidestepped and blocked a blow, and their swords locked together again, bringing them closer. Robin lunged at the sheriff with an overhead blow that transformed into an elegant deadly arc. Vaisey didn’t manage to predict that and failed to parry a blow; his sword slipped to the sand.

Guy wanted to move towards a disarmed Vaisey, but Isabella figured out his intention. Isabella’s eyes shone with an intensity of a cruel woman determined to get what she wanted by any means.

“Stay where you are now, brother, or I will murder you or Marian.” Isabella targeted at arrow at Marian.

Marian didn’t dare move. “You are really going to kill me, Isabella?”

“If I have to get rid of you, I will,” Isabella retorted with a smile. “You won’t be my first victim.”

Guy gave Isabella a shocked glare. Did she kill someone else? What didn’t he know about his own sister?

Robin’s last tricking blow enraged the sheriff immeasurably. Snarling furiously, an incensed Vaisey threw himself at Robin, trying to twist the silver scimitar out of Robin’s hands. Robin and the sheriff fell to the sand near the king and began to struggle hand-to-hand. Robin rammed his fists into Vaisey’s face and stomach several times. Vaisey was answering by kicking Robin with his short legs and trying to stab the hero with his dagger which he had retrieved from the pocket of his black tunic.

Despite the fact that Isabella targeting Marian and Guy, they both didn’t wish to stay uninvolved. Guy wished to help Robin defeat the sheriff; Marian was concerned about the Lionheart. Guy again made a movement towards the two fighting men, and in the next moment, Isabella fired an arrow that struck Guy in the left shoulder. Guy howled with pain and tumbled to the ground, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder.

“Guy!” Marian’s pitched voice echoed through the courtyard.

“Marian! Stay there!” Guy shouted desperately. “Don’t go to me!”

Isabella released another arrow, but Guy ducked in time, and an arrow flew above his head. Isabella really could use a bow, and her aim was not a bad one. Enraged that the previous arrows had missed their targets, she shot two more arrows at her brother, but Guy turned away, all the arrows whizzing past him.

Despite Guy’s pleas to leave him, Marian was at his side. Isabella laughed in triumph as she watched Guy writhe in pain on the sand, trying to avoid being struck by her arrows. Marian helped Guy sit up on the sand and then removed an arrow out of his shoulder.

Robin’s fight with the sheriff continued. Robin was surprised that Vaisey was so physically strong. The sheriff was full of hatred that pushed him to the edge of his insanity, and he was able to give Robin a madly violent fight. Yet, Robin’s smart and adroit struggle quickly exhausted the sheriff. Finally, Vaisey found himself pinned to the ground, Robin sitting atop of him, his gaze cruel and sharp, his mouth twisted in hard lines. With a feral, unrelenting glint in his eyes, Robin lifted his scimitar, ready for the kill.

Robin glared savagely at Vaisey. “Prepare to die, Vaisey. This is your last day on earth,” he hissed through gritted his teeth. “I was too patient with you. This ends here!"

"No, Robin, don’t!" Marian's anxious voice made him wince. The sandy-haired man turned his head to look at her. “You can give him to the king, and he will stand a trial.”

“He deserves to die,” Robin said firmly, his gaze locked with Marian’s.

“Marian, stay out of this! What are you doing, you fool?” Guy growled, grabbing her hand.

"Robin, you are not a killer," Marian persuaded the hero, ignoring Guy’s words; she didn’t want Robin to have another death on his conscience, when they could simply arrest the sheriff and execute him.

King Richard issued a countermand. “Kill him, Robin! Don’t listen to her! Kill him! It is an order!”

Guy watched in disbelief the scene in the courtyard. “Hood, kill the sheriff!”

"What?" All at once, a cloud of confusion wrapped Robin in itself; his mind was reeling. He remembered his non-killing code, and something snapped in his heart. He had planned to detain Vaisey and later to have the evil man executed in front of a large, bloodthirsty crowd. He hesitated, losing precious time.

Using Robin’s temporary hesitation, Vaisey pushed Robin away with all his might and released himself from Robin’s hold. He slammed his fist into Robin’s jaw and laughed as Robin groaned in pain.

“My leper, you are a good chicken,” Vaisey taunted. "You should have killed me when you could, Hood.”

At the same time, Marian stood frozen, her frantic eyes darting between the king, an ambushed Robin, and an injured Guy. She didn’t know what to do. She was at a lost for a moment.

Robin still sat on the sand, his mind strangely vapid, as if it had stopped accepting input. The sheriff’s punch was so hard that it had nearly rendered him unconscious; his vision was blurry, his head dizzy.

Vaisey grabbed Robin’s scimitar from the sand and, at a breakneck speed, ran towards Richard.

Guy saw what the sheriff had done, his eyes flying between the king and Robin. He jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. But as he rushed towards the king, an arrow struck him in the same shoulder. Guy felt a wave of strong pain shooting through his shoulder. He again fell to the sand.

“No! Stop him!” Marian shouted and moved away from Guy.

Guy turned his head, and his eyes locked with Isabella’s blazing eyes. “Isabella, what have you done?”

Isabella’s eyes were cold; she held the sheriff’s bow in her hands. “Let Lord Vaisey kill the king.” She released several more arrows at Guy, and he writhed like a serpent on the sand, trying to avoid being injured again; all her other arrows missed their target.

“Stop, Isabella! Stop!” Guy begged his sister. “You are out of your mind!”

“No,” Marian said. As she saw the sheriff coming after the king, she reacted in the way that came most naturally to her: she ran to the king, determined to stop the sheriff at any cost.

Soon Vaisey already stood above King Richard. “I am so close to having absolute power! I will never be defeated!” he proclaimed in a rancorous voice, his lips lengthening in a lethally sweet smile.

“Stop, Lord Vaisey! Stop!” Marian shrieked in a panicked voice as she came hurtling towards the sheriff. She didn’t care that she was weaponless – she simply went after him.

Unfortunately, the sheriff was too already close to the king, and Marian needed some time to cross the courtyard. God willed that Marian wouldn’t become the king’s savior today. There was another person who was closer to the king than anybody else – Robin of Locksley.

The sheriff lunged at King Richard with Robin’s scimitar and prepared to strike a downward blow. The scimitar struck not the king but Robin who had hastily jumped between Richard and Vaisey. His forehead frowned in a tall line of creases, the sheriff stared at Robin with shocked eyes, his expression stupefied for a moment; then Vaisey’s face morphed diabolical malevolence. The picture before his eyes was unbelievable: Robin Hood was defeated with his own scimitar that was driven into his abdomen.

Robin moaned, his face contorting in pain and salt tears stinging his eyes; he tumbled to the sand.

“Blah-di-blah-di-blah! _I killed Robin Hood!_ ” Vaisey’s triumphal voice boomed in the air inauspiciously. “ _I killed Robin Hood! I have done that!_ ” He laughed with malicious joy. “And now I will kill King Richard!” He needed a sword! He swiveled, his eyes searching for his own scimitar which he had lost after Robin had overpowered him. He ran and grabbed his golden scimitar from the ground. Then he dashed to the king.

“Robin…” King Richard was utterly shocked, his eyes glued to his captain who had fallen near him.

Marian stood petrified in horror, her face as pale as death itself. “No,” she barely managed to say.

Robin felt a searing, white-hot, blinding pain shooting through his entire body as the curved blade penetrated his flesh; he barely suppressed a howl of pain. His heart palpitated with pain like wings of a dying butterfly as he tried to endure the agony. Robin had never experienced such a monstrous torment before, and there was no respite for him as waves of pain buffeted him like the waves of a tempestuous ocean. His white tunic was drenched with his own blood seeping out of the deep wound in his abdomen.

“My God,” Robin whispered to himself. He felt _an icy chill of death_ inside him, for it was _a mortal wound_. He tried to take a deep breath, but the pain intensified in his stomach; his eyes filled with tears.

“Isabella, watch them,” the sheriff barked; he meant Guy and Marian who could still thwart his plan to murder the king.

Guy reached out for an arrow and took it out. He bolted into a sitting position, and a surge of pain went through him. He blinked his eyes and shook his head, and then he turned his gaze at Robin. The picture terrified him out of his wits, feeling as if savages had come rushing at him out of the mist.

“Robin Hood…” Guy muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

“No, no, no,” a horrified Marian whispered over and over again.

“Holy Mother of God!” a shocked Isabella put a hand on her mouth.

Guy made a movement towards Robin, but Isabella gauged his intention and nocked another arrow, the last arrow she had in stock. The arrow struck Guy in his left forearm, and he roared in pain.

Isabella only laughed at Guy, but then her eyes slid to Robin Hood, and her heart constricted in her chest. She didn’t like that Robin was so severely injured in regicide, knowing that he would most likely die. She also knew that Prince John wouldn’t approve of Vaisey’s actions because John wouldn’t benefit from Robin’s death. And then she saw what Marian intended to do.

Robin looked at the sun blazing across the cerulean canvas, and his inner voice whispered to him that his time to die had come. But he didn’t want to die, screeching his own mournful cry in his mind; his lips were only moving without producing a sound. He imagined that he could hear mournful canticles which were sang by invisible deities of death that stalked his dying form. With great effort, Robin turned his head, barely able to keep his eyes open, and his eyes locked with Richard’s eyes full of dread and disbelief. The voice in the back of his head reminded him that the king’s life was in peril, but he couldn’t move.

Robin could hear the violent pounding of his own heart in his ears and tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Through the mist swirling in his head, he saw the sneering face of their enemy almost above the king – Vaisey’s face. He watched King Richard crawling further away, desperately trying to escape. He heard the king’s moans as the wounded shoulder caused the monarch pain and restrained his mobility.

As Marian finally almost reached the sheriff, Isabella appeared next to her, pressing a dagger to Marian’s throat. “Stay where you are now. Let Vaisey do the deed.”

Marian’s heart was racing with fear. “You are a diabolical creature, Isabella.”

“Marian, I am simply practical. When Prince John becomes king, I will have everything I want,” Isabella added, her amusement masking her agitation she felt due to her participation in the regicide.

Sheriff Vaisey was advancing forward at Richard who continued crawling over the sand.

“No!” Robin screamed in horror as he saw Vaisey nearing the Lionheart.

Vaisey already was preparing to lunge at the king. “Yes, Hood, you lost! The lion will roar in pain!”

Richard continued crawling, but Vaisey was so close to him that he was sure he would die today, too. He stopped moving and allowed himself the luxury to look back. “Even if you succeed, Lord Vaisey, my brother will get rid of you, like he does with everyone who outlives their usefulness.”

Vaisey laughed venomously. “This is so great! The king and his captain die on the same day! I have won the war with the lion and his outlaw!” He lunged at the king with a fatal downward blow.

Robin tried to move to save Richard, but the king was no longer near him. There was no way he could again save Richard. His head was pounding, and he could feel his heart beating faster and faster, almost bursting out of his chest. He could hardly breathe, each breath bringing a tide of wild pain. And then Robin’s inflamed mind registered a flash of steel as an unknown young man blocked Vaisey’s blow.

The king wasn’t destined to die in Acre. King Richard’s life was saved twice – the first time by Robin and the second time by Archer who blocked Vaisey’s blow at the very last moment.

Archer swiped at Vaisey’s torso, but the sheriff sidestepped that blow. Archer stepped forward and swung his scimitar, slicing the sheriff’s forearm; then he slammed his elbow across Vaisey’s face.

“You won’t kill the king, Lord Vaisey,” Archer avouched, his eyes flitting between the wounded king and Robin. “You have committed too many heinous crimes today.”

Vaisey scowled, his jaw aching from Archer’s blow. “You are Prince John’s assassin. You were hired to kill Robin Hood and the king,” he declared scornfully. “You are nothing more than a stupid and weak brat; you are more pathetic than Gisborne.”

“I have switched sides. I have killed your assassins today in the bloody battle,” Archer confessed. “But if I knew that the king had been injured, I would have come here straight away.”

“This is true. This young man helped us a lot,” Roger de Lacy said as he approached the king. His face twisted into harshness and then disbelief as he took notice of Robin and the king. “No. This cannot be true!”

“Isabella!” the sheriff bawled out. “Leave this leper!”

“I am coming!” Isabella balled her fist and punched Marian in the jaw; then she rushed to Vaisey.

Vaisey hastened to the king’s white stallion that stood riderless near the fountain; he hopped into the saddle. He understood that he wouldn’t be able to kill the king today. He could escape from Imuiz and Acre to avoid being arrested by the Crusaders only if he took advantage of the perplexity of the king’s saviors who were deeply shocked to find the king and Robin so grievously wounded. The regicide attempt was thwarted, and the sheriff again failed, the king was alive, but at least he annihilated the hero of the woods.

“Adieu, Hood! Have happy burial, my outlaw bird!” Vaisey yelled, laughing gloatingly. “Isabella, to me!”

“I am here!” Isabella sighed with relief as she mounted the horse behind the sheriff.

"It is not over! I will have England!" the sheriff bellowed as he spurred on the horse and galloped away from the courtyard, heading to the harbor and intending to leave for England in less than an hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you truly enjoyed this chapter and the plot.
> 
> It was an action-packed chapter, with many unexpected twists. I warned you that this chapter would be sensational. There is bloodshed and a character’s death in this chapter as Edmund, Robin’s friend, is killed. As it happened on the show, Carter was wounded by the sheriff; maybe he will die too.
> 
> I hope you liked the drama in the deserted courtyard where King Richard fell after Vaisey’s arrow had struck him in the shoulder. This regicide is exotic and original because no writer had Guy, Robin, Archer, and Isabella in Imuiz, trying to kill or to defend the king.
> 
> Everyone had his or her own role in this regicide. Isabella was a traitor who contributed a lot to the demise of Robin Hood; some people suspected Isabella's true allegiances, and I told you that she has her own role in this story. Marian revealed to Guy the truth about her relationship with Robin, and there is clarity between them; she acted in the same way she did on the show, trying to hurt Guy as he disappointed her by his unwillingness to stop, although Robin did stop Guy in the end. Archer switched sides and helped Robin's friends in the battle; he also has another important role in this story, and you will see what I mean in later chapters. Although he is still a traitor to King Richard, Guy still tried to save the king in the last scene, but Isabella shot him, preventing him from reaching from Richard and Robin . Guy couldn’t have been the king’s savior because this is Robin’s role.
> 
> I think you didn't expect the demise of both Robin and Guy in Imuiz. Well, Vaisey wounded Robin with Robin's own scimitar in the stomach, which is kind of symbolical because Robin killed many people with this weapon; the Holy Land retaliated Robin for all the blood he spilled on the battlefields of Outremer as he was fatally wounded by his own scimitar. Guy's demise happened at the hands of his own sister who hates him fiercely and wants to make Guy suffer for what he did to her many years ago when he sold Isabella to Squire Thornton.
> 
> The next chapter is more emotional: it is very tragic, and maybe you can guess what will follow after Vaisey’s escape. Don’t ask me what will happen to Robin and Guy. Be prepared for more drama.
> 
> What do you think about the chapter and the outcome of the regicide attempt in Imuiz? I'd love to know your opinion because it was an extremely difficult chapter to write.


	8. Death of a Hero

**Chapter 8**

**Death of a Hero**

Guy of Gisborne removed Isabella’s arrow from the forearm. With great effort, he awkwardly climbed to his feet; every movement was painful due to his three arrow wounds; the pain was spreading through his body in waves. Guy felt lightheaded and weak; the blood loss intensified after he had taken the arrow out of his twice injured shoulder. Then his eyes fixed on Robin, and he shuddered in horror.

In the next moment, Much, Allan, Will, Djaq, and Little John appeared in the courtyard. An injured Carter was not with them: they had left him in one of the buildings, intending to take him to the camp later. They froze in horror as realization about the tragic demise of King Richard and Robin dawned upon them. Never had they imagined, even in their wildest nightmares, that they would come to save the King of England and the greatest legend of England too late. Forcing themselves to remain outwardly calm, they rushed across the square towards Richard and Robin.

"No, no… It cannot be real! Not Robin…” a terrified Much murmured.

“Dear God! So much blood…” Will’s voice was barely audible.

"On, no! Not Robin!" Allan cried out.

Little John shook his head in disbelief. "Holy mother of God!"

“Oh, my God!” a shocked Djaq exclaimed.

Marian ran to Robin as fast as her legs carried her; Guy slowly trailed behind her. The expression on her face was hard to define, for she looked terrified, shocked, anxious, curious, and panicked; tears were running openly down her cheeks. She paused near Robin and held Guy’s eyes for a moment, then looked down, at Robin’s motionless form, and then at the broad pool of blood on the ground. All of a sudden, Marian burst into tears, for the tragedy in the courtyard drove her to the verge of a breakdown, and her own close brush with death was too fresh in her mind.

“Robin! Robin!” a distraught Marian cried out desperately.

Marian sat down on the ground next to Robin, cradling Robin’s head in her hands and clutching his hands as if they were the most precious thing in the world. She felt as if her entire life were being turned upside down in a slow motion, for the harrowing incredibly of the moment was too intense to bear it.

Guy stood behind Marian in an ominous silence, watching her cry near Robin who lay on the sand with the scimitar driven in his stomach. Emotions overwhelmed Guy, fear threatening to overpower him. Unutterable horror painted itself over his visage at the sight of the great Robin Hood and the sand sodden with the younger man’s heroic blood.

Much knelt by Robin, his countenance revealing sheer shock.

“No,” Marian whispered, her eyes frantic and tear-stained, her body shaking with sobs. “No, no, no.”

Much took Robin’s hand in his. “Robin, do you hear me?”

“Is he… is he alive?” Guy knelt by a trembling Marian.

“Robin… Robin…” Marian sobbed. It was too much for her to bear, and she wished only to awaken Robin, to imagine that nothing had happened and that they were just gripped in the throes of some terrible nightmare. Everything that had happened over the past few days and in Imuiz hit Marian with a sudden and sickening fierceness.

“The king! Where is the king?” Robin asked as his eyes suddenly flung open, his face ghostly pale.

“He is alright, Robin.” Marian held his head, looking down at him. “He is alright. You saved him.”

“Where is the sheriff?” Robin swallowed heavily.

“Vaisey escaped,” Much reported.

Much shot Guy a fulminating look, his eyes full of disdain and hatred, looking at Guy as if he were the evilest thing that could befall them.

Guy felt his jaw clench and his ire fuse his cheeks with heat. He swung his gaze away from Robin, Much, and Marian, and stared down, his eyes taking in the crimson sand. He couldn’t be in the presence of all these people, and if he could, he would have burrowed a deep hole in the ground to hide there. Guy repressed a groan as he felt a new tide of pain slashing through his shoulder; he continued losing blood.

“Did Isabella harm you, Marian?” Robin whispered, concerned.

“No, she didn’t.” Marian touched Robin’s forehead, her thumbs gently caressing his skin; Guy gazed away, releasing a bitter sigh.

“Oh, Robin,” Much groaned.

Robin managed a smile for his friend. “Don’t be so distressed, Much.” His eyes darted to Marian. “Sorry that I couldn’t save you again, Marian.”

“You saved the king and me today,” Marian answered, stroking his hair that fell handsomely over his forehead. Her mouth twisted with the effort it was taking to hold back her emotions, but she was unable to control herself; tears rolled down her cheeks.

Standing close to Marian and Robin, Guy was looking between them, feeling as if his heart had petrified and ceased to beat. The ire at her for her betrayal which he should have felt at the moment was buried beneath the ashes of what had been his heart. His emotions were teetering on a knife-edge: Guy was furious at Marian for treating Robin with such deep affection and innate tenderness, and there was also a strange resignation in him to the fact that his childhood nemesis would spend his last moments with Marian. Guy made no attempt to drag Marian away from the wounded man, and he simply stood there, looking at them with blank eyes, although it was possible to distinguish a faint tinge of bitterness in their depths.

The tragic events in Acre affected Guy so profoundly that he felt lost. Yet, despite the emotional turmoil inside him, he was still interested enough to discern the slightest shades of Marian and Robin’s expressions as he watched them conversing quietly. He didn’t know whether their conversation or, perhaps, the intonations of their voices induced Guy suddenly to feel all the mystic sympathy to the two of them, of which he was capable of. He ceased to be annoyed and angry at Marian for comforting Robin in spite of having a thought that it could be a mistake on his part, maybe a very stupid blunder. Guy was anxious to see Marian end this scene with Robin and step away on grounds of decency, but he didn’t do anything.

Archer shuddered in shock as he glanced at Robin, his half-brother whom he had met today for the first time and had failed to save. A fat tear fell unheeded from his eyes as he had realized how dire Robin’s condition was. “I have no words,” he whispered.

De Lacy knelt to the king. “My liege, you are wounded!”

“Robin? How is Robin?” King Richard asked, his eyes full of concern and fear.

De Lacy had never seen his king, the mighty Richard the Lionheart, so frightened. Apparently, the king was extremely concerned about Robin’s fate. He himself stifled a scream when he saw Robin, wishing to fling both hands across his eyes in order not to see Robin with the sword in his belly. “Sire, Robin is injured,” he said in a voice thick with emotion but controlled. “I don’t know how bad it is.”

Djaq and Will rushed to the king. Allowing Djaq to have some space near the king, Roger de Lacy rose to his feet and stepped aside, to Archer. Djaq removed the arrow from the king’s shoulder and then ordered de Lacy and Will to find something to bandage the wound; she then stalked towards the fountain to get some water for cleaning the king’s wound; she quickly returned to the monarch. De Lacy and Archer helped the king rise in a sitting position, and Djaq bandaged Richard’s hand.

Djaq’s clear, quick voice spoke. “Sire, you will have to ask your physician to tend to your wound again. This is only initial treatment. It needs to be cleaned again.”

“Thank you.” King Richard inhaled deeply. As he tried to move his arm, he groaned.

“How painful is it?” Djaq asked.

“Quite painful,” Richard replied.

“Your doctors will have to use some painkillers. You are not in grave danger, but I doubt that the pain will subside soon,” Djaq informed. “You may also contract a fever. Let’s hope that it won’t happen to you.”

The king watched Marian and Much crying over Robin with a grim gaze. “Go to Robin,” he instructed.

"Oh, God, no!” Djaq eyed Robin, her eyes stopping on the scimitar that was still inside Robin’s belly.

"Can you save Robin?" Will asked in a shaking voice.

“No.” Djaq moved towards Robin and in a heartbeat was next to her friend; she stopped near Robin, her eyes scanning his body. She knew that it was a mortal wound.

“How is it looking down there?” Robin’s voice was quiet but clear.

Marian looked up at Djaq, who gave her a grim and desperate look. As Marian saw a tear trickling down Djaq’s face, she realized what the young Saracen couldn’t find strength to utter aloud. She lowered her head, and her bosom heaved with sobs of grief; she blinked the tears from her eyes, wiping them with her palm. She couldn’t accept that Robin was going to die, but she had to be strong for him and for herself.

Guy also grasped the meaning of Djaq’s unspoken verdict, and he looked away, closing his eyes at the thought of what had just happened and what Robin must have been going through at that moment. Guy’s mind swiftly meandered over the events of the distant past: once he had been wounded in a battle with a knight whom Vaisey had ordered him to kill and who had deeply sliced Guy through the ribs, escaping death at Guy’s hands. Later, Guy had almost died from severe infection and fever. Thoughts that Hood had a much more serious wound and was in agony made Guy shudder.

As soon as he had seen Robin, Much had realized almost instantly that his former master was dying. He had seen too many wounded soldiers during their service in the Holy Land, and he was no stranger to lethal wounds of various types. Tears came to Much's eyes as he squeezed Robin’s hand. A blend of indescribable hollowness and unspeakable despair filled his whole being.

“Am I beyond even Djaq’s amazing talent?” Robin looked at Djaq; then he smiled. “Well, I knew that from the beginning. But can we at least get this out of me? It hurts.”

Marian shook her head. “Robin, we can’t take it out just yet.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “Why?” He turned to Djaq. “Why?” He intercepted Djaq’s sad glance, and raised his eyebrows slightly. “Will I die when the sword comes out?”

Djaq nodded her head, her face grave. “I am sorry… I am so sorry.”

Tears blinded Much as he looked at the young Saracen. “Please, save him, Djaq.”

“Miracles are not my forte,” Djaq responded in a tight voice, feeling ashamed that she could do nothing for Robin.

“And if I don’t take it out?” The hero sighed at the realization of how close to death he was.

“Robin, listen to me. You will stay alive until you… take it… out… Don’t move to avoid causing yourself pain, and you will live… for some time,” Djaq recommended, her voice cracking; tears sprang into her eyes, and she became lightheaded from her shock.

The effect of Djaq’s words was overwhelming: Robin was dying.

Roger de Lacy and Archer stood a small distance from the place where Robin lay.

“Robin is dying… I cannot believe…” Roger de Lacy lamented.

Archer eyed him sympathetically. “The people say that there are… spiritualists, those people who think that they can bring back the dead, but these things are just fairy-tales.”

De Lacy let out a deep sigh of sorrow. “I would have given up my own life to save Robin. I would have done everything to save him.”

“His wound is mortal,” Archer voiced the verdict.

“I cannot believe… Robin cannot die… He always took many risks, but he always won… his battles.” De Lacy’s voice was shaking, and there were tears in his green eyes. “I love Robin so much. We have been friends for more than ten years. I have known him since he was fifteen and I was thirteen.”

“I understand.” Archer had no strength to watch Robin’s death; he had to leave.

Marian shook her head, unable to accept Djaq’s verdict. She looked at Robin, tears of pain and grief splashing her cheeks. Guy was staring in shocked horror at the silver scimitar protruding out of Robin’s abdomen, the crimson blood dripping onto the sand.

“No, God, no,” Much moaned. Hot tears were trickling down his cheeks and scalding his neck. Will gave the distraught man a small piece of cloth, but Much sobbed so hard that it was soon damp with tears.

“Please don’t cry for me. It is my fate, and I am… content with it.” Robin mustered as much courage as he could to look calm, forcing his entire being to endure the agony.

“Robin, I am so sorry,” Djaq muttered apologetically.

“It is my fate,” Robin repeated. He sighed deeply, this time repressing his moan as a new wave of pain ripped through his body. “I want to talk with Marian… and Gisborne.”

“But Robin…” Much lapsed into silence as Robin shot him a warning look.

Djaq nodded and stepped away. Much also reluctantly stepped aside, glaring fiercely at Guy and Marian.

Guy wanted to leave, but Marian took his hand in hers and prevented him from doing that. Guy couldn’t object, fearing that Hood was going to say or do something that would bring painful memories into his life. Yet, Guy also wished to hear what his enemy would say. Probably after Hood’s death, he would be able to find peace at last; perhaps, he would be free from memories, burdens, and regrets.

Robin raised his brows in mock surprise. “Gisborne, what is happening to you? Do you fear to talk to me even when I am dying?”

Guy stiffened. “No, I don’t.”

“I told you that you don’t know the truth,” Robin reminded him. “But I will ensure that you will learn everything. You have a right to learn the truth.”

Guy looked puzzled. “What do I have to know, Hood?”

“All in a due time.” Robin grimaced in pain as he tried to move his body.

“Oh, Robin…” Tears sprang into Marian’s eyes.

“Marian, please don’t cry,” Robin murmured, giving her a small smile.

“It is my fault, Robin,” Marian choked out through tears. “I shouldn’t have interfered and distracted you! I should have let you kill Vaisey!”

Guy observed them from the corner of his eye. He felt weaker and weaker, his mind was clouded, his temples throbbed in pain; the blood loss and tension were beginning to have a huge toll on him. His hands were covered with his own blood that was still flowing out of his two wounds on the shoulder.

“Don’t blame yourself. It is a tragic coincidence,” Robin assured her.

“It is my fault, too,” Marian objected, tears leaking from her eyes. “I should have kept silent! I should have killed the sheriff myself in Acre or in Nottingham!”

Robin drew a deep breath, so deep that it caused pain. “I hesitated, thinking that Vaisey should have been executed publicly… to humiliate him before his death. The sheriff only used the moment and then everything went… so wrong.” He paused, gathering his strength. He reiterated, “It is a tragic coincidence.”

“But you are… are…” She trailed off, unable to voice the truth.

“I am dying,” Robin finished for her. A grimace of pain on his face was replaced by a light smile. “But it matters a little. Once I told you that I am not afraid of death. I have been long prepared to die. Death is just the last joke in a series of bad jokes.”

“You… were prepared… to die?” His words about death sounded so natural and so proud that Marian shuddered, feeling both confused and perplexed.

Robin nodded. “Knights rarely die old. And I felt that I would die here, in the Holy Land.” He coughed and moaned in pain. “I killed so many people in these lands that I cannot count numbers. My skills with a bow and a sword are not a blessing but a curse.”

“Hood, you shouldn’t–” Guy broke off abruptly. Feeling dizzy, he landed on the sand, near Marian.

Robin stared at Guy, his gaze intensive and ever-penetrating. “I will speak while I still have time, Gisborne. There is so much blood on my hands, the blood of the Saracens, Djaq’s countrymen. I often thought that I was doomed to die in this exotic land, being punished for all the crimes and atrocities I committed and witnessed in these lands. And it is the reason why I couldn’t kill after my return to England.”

“Why are you telling me this, Hood?” Guy growled. “I am not a priest to give you absolution.”

“Guy, stop!” Marian gave him a furious glare.

“Gisborne, it concerns you. You killed many people, and so did I,” Robin said frankly. “But unlike me, you will see sunrise and sunset tomorrow. You still have time to redeem yourself. Don’t kill anymore unless you must do that. You will destroy yourself if you continue killing in cold blood.”

Guy scoffed. “I don’t have much time left. The king will order my execution.”

Robin chuckled weakly. “King Richard won’t execute you.”

“You can do nothing, and you don't want to do anything, Hood." Guy smirked.

“You don’t know many things,” Robin parried, shutting his eyes for a moment.

“Robin, I don’t want you dead,” Marian lamented, tears shining in her eyes. She averted her eyes as a wave of anguish mingled with shame washed over her.

Robin’s eyes were solemn as he tipped up her chin until she turned her gaze at him. “Don’t cry, Marian. I am having a glorious death, for my king and for England."

“Will you forgive me for betraying you?” Marian asked in a beseeching voice, tears rolling down her cheeks incessantly.

Robin smiled. “I forgave you. I did many wrong things in our relationship.”

Guy cringed at his words, a shudder running through him; then he glanced away.

She smiled through tears. “Oh, Robin,” she said, still holding his head in her hands. “I don’t deserve you. I hurt you so much and wronged you, and I am so sorry for that.”

"You are wrong. You do deserve someone better than me,” Robin articulated confidently. "And definitely better than him,” he added, glancing at Guy. “I have come to the conclusion that maybe neither of us can make you happy. But if you can be happy with Gisborne, then I am glad.”

Guy heaved a sigh. “Maybe you are right, Hood, and we both are not for her.”

“Leave us for a minute, Gisborne,” Robin asked. “Please.”

Guy hesitated, but Marian sent him a pleading look. After a moment’s dither, he rose to his feet and stepped aside, leaving Marian and Robin in privacy.

Robin gazed into her eyes, his expression pained. “Do you love Guy?” he asked, fearing to feel a pang of disappointed love again.

Marian was awash with an enormous flood of deep, pure love for her dear Robin, the hero of the woods whom she loved since childhood. She was never able to love what wasn’t lovable or hate what wasn’t hateful, out of deference for some general principle. It occurred to her that Guy – she found herself unable to call him ‘her husband’ – was a man who could destroy everything around him and within himself, love, and hate, and belief, and even doubt; but his enmity with Robin couldn’t destroy the love for Robin that still lived in Marian’s heart. Marian’s inner voice whispered to her, with a gorgeous eloquence and a magical charm, that _Robin was her true love_ – Robin, not Guy or nobody else.

Her love for Robin blossomed in her heart like a lotus flower, and all of a sudden, the sun and the whole world seemed brighter. The strength and depth of her love were visible in the graceful curve of her mouth that slowly widened into a warm smile, and in the sparkle of her tearful sapphire eyes, and in the color of her magnificent eyes as well, a clear and lighter blue that evoked images of calm, deep sea water in Robin’s mind. In this moment, Marian realized that her love for the dying hero was like a burning flame of divine fire that would never extinguish and would never be fully past and gone.

Marian caressed his cheek with her thumb; she had to ward off the urge to kiss his lips for the last time in their lives. “ _You are the man I love_ ,” she whispered, combing his hair with her fingers and brushing one long strand behind his ear. “How could you think that I could ever forget you, my handsome Robin Hood?”

Robin grinned sheepishly. “You are most kind.”

“Robin, I am being truthful now,” she dispelled his doubts; a smile appeared on her face. “I haven’t forgotten you. You have always been in my heart. Always.”

The amorous look on her face and the sound of her voice were like a mist of facts thickening around Robin and encompassing him into a cocoon of love and warmth. A warm, radiant smile manifested itself on his countenance; his smile was so brilliant that it could outshine the sun. “Then, I have nothing to fear and regret. I tried to make this world a better place in the only way I knew. I fought for what I believed in. I loved and was loved in return. I am dying a happy man.” He sighed heavily, his expression doleful. “But I failed to save England – I saved only the king.”

She was confused as to what he meant. “You saved England and the king today.”

He flashed a melancholic smile. “You are wrong.”

Marian’s visage was tinctured with confusion. “Why?”

Robin had the proclivity to resort to a skillful subterfuge and maneuver to another topic. He truly feared to make the confession, but his face remained devoid of his intense conflicted emotions that pulsated through him. All at once, the conflict in his heart was replaced with a breathtaking clarity and a deep-seated confidence that he had to bare his heart to her. They had spoken truth to each other so rarely, and that resulted in their break-up, and Robin felt obliged to share his conclusions with her at least now.

He spoke frankly. “I realized that the king is not England – the people are England. Any king is only a symbol of the nation.” He smiled knowingly. “One man cannot save England – he can save only the king. The mission to save England was doomed to failure from the beginning, but it is very good to dream that you can save some innocents and give them a better life; your father told me about that… before his death.”

A befuddled Marian whispered, “Why are you having such thoughts?”

“I am not as idealistic as I used to be.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face and ran an appraising finger along her jaw line; he then traced the curve of her cheek. “But I wouldn’t have done anything differently. Otherwise, I would have despised myself. And I am very proud of what we have achieved.”

“I am proud of us, too.” She squeezed his hand.

Robin smiled softly. “Marian, I still love you, and part of my heart belongs to you. But if I could have avoided loving you, I would prefer that,” he said with categorical honesty.

“Robin, I love you, too,” Marian confessed fervently. Fresh tears flooded her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as the chasmal despair she felt at the thought of his impending death flashed in her mind with a devastating sharpness. “I love you for all our past we had together and for the great love we couldn’t have because of our own mistakes.”

“I need King Richard,” Robin requested in a weak voice, closing his eyes.

A silence in the courtyard was absolute. Robin wanted to look at each of his friends, and he made eye brief contact with as many of his friends as he could, seeing grief and dread in their eyes.

Roger de Lacy and Much helped the king to settle on the ground next to Robin. The king’s expression was immensely sad, and he took the hand of his favorite in his. Richard trembled at the sight of the sand soaked with Robin’s blood. It was Robin's fresh blood, the symbol of the king’s salvation and of Robin’s death.

“Robin,” the king said, stroking Robin’s hair.

“My liege, you are wounded,” Robin asserted.

“I am fine. You will also recover,” Richard replied, a wistful expression on his face.

Robin shook his head. “No, I won’t, which is why I have to talk to you.”

“Leave,” Richard commanded.

As Marian and Guy stepped back, Robin clutched the king’s hand. “No, we need them for a brief conversation. Please permit them to stay.”

Richard scowled for an instant, but then his face recovered its neutrality. “Permission is granted.” He figured out Robin’s intention, and it was not what he wanted to hear, but he couldn’t reject the plea of his beloved half-brother in such a tragic moment.

Guy and Marian shared worried glances. Then they sat down on the sand.

From the corner of a nearby building, a perturbed Archer watched King Richard sitting on the sand close to Robin, together with Marian and Guy. He thought that he was sleeping and dreamt of opening his eyes, of being fully awake and aware, and of learning that all the time since their departure from Portsmouth was a dreadful nightmare. He didn’t wish Robin dead and blamed himself for not killing Vaisey.

Archer buried his face in his hands. “What have I done? Robin, I am so sorry. You are such a good man, always sharing your wealth with the poor.”

Archer suddenly bounced to his feet. He shook his head miserably, and, despite himself, he felt tears stung his eyes. For so long, he had hated Robin for having everything while he had starved after their father had abandoned him. And yet, he now thought that he loved Robin who gave him an example of unselfish sacrifices. He wasn’t playing a game – he wanted to become a better man. His only consolation was that he had prevented Vaisey from killing the King of England.

“If I knew how to bring Robin back, I would do that,” Archer thought bitterly. “At least I saved the king after Robin’s stabbing. Robin’s sacrifice wouldn’t be pointless.”

§§§

A mortuary silence descended upon the courtyard and the whole Imuiz, punctured only by muffled sobs of the people who watched Robin of Locksley’s tragic demise. The silence awoke a terrible sense of dread growing in everyone’s hearts as they waited for Robin’s untimely and undeserved death.

“Robin,” the king called.

“Too much blood,” Robin muttered to himself. He cringed in revulsion as he cast a sidelong glance at the sand beneath his body.

Marian compressed her lips to stifle a cry of horror that was threatening to come forth, but she was struggling to school her features into composure. Guy looked solemn and detached, but a muscle worked in his jaw, which was a sure sign of inner agitation.

“Robin, I am so sorry,” Richard said softly; his gaze wandered sorrowfully to Robin’s stomach and fell on the silver scimitar driven into his flesh. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I have a request, sire,” Robin began in a weak voice.

“Robin, tell me what you want,” Richard continued, stroking rhythmically the fingers of Robin’s right hand; then he laced their fingers.

Robin gazed into the king’s despondent eyes. “My liege, I beseech you to pardon Guy of Gisborne. Although he came to Acre with the Sheriff of Nottingham and was one of the Black Knights, he said that he didn’t want to kill you. I believe that he deserves a chance to live another life as a different man. Please give him back the Gisborne lands that were submerged in my estates so many years ago.”

Guy thought that he had gone mad from the pain and exhaustion which were tormenting him. A wealth of feelings flashed across his face: surprise, amazement, disbelief, admiration, happiness. He then schooled his features into reigned calmness.

Marian stared at Robin, her eyes shining with admiration. Never had she anticipated that on his deathbed, Robin would plead with the king to pardon Guy, his sworn enemy.

The king scowled. “Gisborne attempted regicide twice. I told you that I cannot–”

Robin cut his liege off sharply. “Sire, you cannot execute Guy of Gisborne!” he stated passionately. “Tell Gisborne the truth as he deserves to know it. This old mystery almost destroyed our lives.”

“You know that I cannot do that, Robin,” the lion protested.

“You can and you will,” Robin countered. “Pardon him for me.”

Richard shook his head. “I am sorry, Robin, but I cannot,” he reiterated.

Robin directed a fierce glare at the Lionheart. “Sire, I fought the pointless war in this land for my king and for England. I killed hundreds of the Saracens for you, milord. You know very well that my opinion about the Turks and the holy war changed at the end of the third year of this Crusade.”

“Robin, please stop,” the lion admonished. A dark shadow crossed his face, and he stared deliberately at Guy who averted his gaze. Then he looked back at Robin.

“I do apologize, but I cannot stop, milord. I have little time left to talk,” Robin countered, looking into the lion’s eyes. “You have been giving me so much love and affection, and I have always loved you as much as a subject can love his king. I saved your life many times, and, eventually, I sacrificed myself for you today.”

“My dear Robin, your loyalty and friendship mean everything to me,” Richard declared with deep emotion, his hand gripping Robin’s firmly.

“Then, milord, why are so unwilling to grant my last request?” Robin insisted. “You know that it is the right thing to do taking into account our special circumstances.”

A stunned Guy stared at Robin uncomprehendingly. He was puzzled beyond measure. Never had he expected that Robin of Locksley, his childhood enemy and the man whom he hated so much, would ever ask the king to pardon him. His heart overflowing with admiration mingled with bewilderment, he looked between the king and Robin, his mind racing through a maze of possible explanations. Guy recalled Robin’s words about his relationship with the king, but he didn’t want to believe him.

“I will pardon Gisborne,” Richard acquiesced after a long, tense pause. His voice was taut and angry as he was barely holding onto his temper. He had the inclination to throttle the words that spilled from his own lips, but he couldn’t refuse Robin’s plea. “I will do that for only for you, my brave and ever-loyal Robin.”

“Thank you,” Robin smiled faintly at the king. “Will you tell him the truth you?”

“I will,” Richard vowed, albeit reluctantly. “You have my word.”

Robin smiled. “Thank you, milord.”

Marian and Guy got to their feet and left as King Richard dismissed them by a sweep of his hand. He had to spend some time with his beloved Robin, his half-brother, whom death threatened to take away from the world and him so soon. A brother… It was the word that Richard Plantagenet had dreaded to pronounce and applied it only to Robin.

“You saved my life, Robin.” Grief marred Richard’s features as he looked at his dying half-brother.

“I did.” Robin chuckled.

The king looked very guilty. “I will never be able to repay all my debt to you for everything you did for England and me. I would have been dead without you a long time ago. I am alive now only because you threw yourself between Vaisey’s blade and me.”

His lips arranged in a sincere smile, Robin proclaimed, “I would have died three thousand deaths for you, milord, but I have only one life.”

“And you gave your life for me,” the lion affirmed.

“For England and for you,” Robin amended. “And I am glad that I am dying for you.” He smiled cordially. “I have always loved you, even when I didn’t know the truth about our relationship. Now I love you even more. I regret that we don’t have much time left.”

“I love you very much, too.” Richard brushed a strand of sandy-colored hair from Robin’s forehead, lingering on his skin for a few seconds. “You are the only brother who loves me for who I am and despite… all my faults and failures.”

“I do love you in spite of our disagreements. And I am happy that I learned the truth before my death,” Robin said in a quieter voice. "The Black Knights… are dangerous, and England needs you,” he added, jumping to another important subject.

The king looked distressed for a split second. “The Black Knights will be punished.”

“Tell Melisende that I am very, very fond of her,” Robin murmured, tears forming in his pale blue eyes. “Tell her… that I would love to see her now, but we don’t have time.” His heart twisted as he spoke; he barely tolerated the pain, wishing only to die and be free from the burdens of his life. “I _… could love Melisende. I… really could_. Maybe I am already in love with her.” His voice was cracking.

The lion squeezed his hand. “I will tell her.”

Arrow-shaped, murky clouds scurried across the cerulean canvas above the sea and a little above the port of Acre, and only a few rays of the sun broke through the clouds. The air was filled with muffled sobs, the roaring gurgle of the nearby fountain, and the dust particles that were brought with a rising wind.

Robin called Much, Allan, Will, Djaq, and Roger de Lacy. De Lacy noticed that Archer had disappeared and was not in the courtyard; he wondered where the man had gone, but he had more urgent issues on the agenda – to say farewell words to his dear Robin.

Much looked at Robin, his heart almost collapsing in his chest, feeling as if the world were crumbling around him. He didn’t join the group of Robin’s friends and companions to say goodbye to Robin. He wished to stay with Robin after everyone was gone, and only then to talk to his beloved former master. He wanted to hold Robin’s hand in his own hand when Robin would draw his last breath.

Robin thanked everyone for the time their spent protecting the king and wished them happiness, even though his words could sound trivial.

Roger de Lacy settled on the sand next to Robin. “Robin, I cannot believe that it is happening. I have always loved you, my dear friend.” His voice was edged with sadness.

“I love you, too, Roger.” Robin drew a breath. “I remember a young dark-haired boy who once taught me to play chess. I liked his mischievous and challenging ways from the first meeting. ” He smiled. “You have changed so little since then.”

Roger’s eyes filled with tears, and he brushed them away almost ruthlessly. “And you were a quick learner and were soon able to compete with me in any game.”

“Roger, tell Robert… that I died proud as I knew you and him, all our friends, and I fought alongside you,” Robin murmured, his voice trembling.

De Lacy squeezed Robin’s hand. “I am proud of our friendship.”

“You are a good friend, Roger,” Robin asserted.

Roger smiled. “My friend, my Robin, I will miss you… so much.” A spasm of pain crossed his face. “I cannot imagine the world without you, our little bird.”

“I will miss you, too.” Robin let out a quiet laugh, but he winced in pain. “Roger, tell Robert that this time I will be unable to bewitch him, making him a little bird like me.” He sighed. “And tell Robert that I love him.”

Roger let out a lugubrious smile. “I will.” As he stood up from the sand, he glared at Gisborne ferociously; he also threw a contemptuous look at Marian.

“You, I liked,” Little John said. It was laconic but meaningful.

“Robin, you are a great man. There are no words to describe what you have done for your king, for England, and for all of us. We will never forget you,” Djaq said, tears trickling down her cheeks.

“Robin,” Will addressed the hero, “you have always been my hero. I admired you when you were very young and after you came back from war. I have always wanted to be like you, and I will never forget you.”

“Don’t exaggerate. I could do a lot more, but I don’t have the time,” Robin said. “I courted danger and flirted with death for too long, and today I wasn’t able to win.”

“Robin, I… don’t know what to say. I want to apologize for my betrayal,” Allan began humbly.

“I forgive you, Allan; you also must forgive yourself,” Robin responded with a weak smile. “Just remember that there are no innocent lies and betrayals, Allan.”

“We all will miss you.” Will’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Robin sighed. “You will have no time to miss me. Life will go on without me.”

“Thank you, Hood,” Guy of Gisborne, his eyes shyly meeting Robin’s.

A rueful smile curved Robin’s mouth. “Well, it is quite an achievement to hear the words of gratitude from you, Gisborne.”

Guy glanced away. “I am aware that I owe you a tremendous debt of gratitude,” he acknowledged.

Robin flashed a crooked grin. “Well, gratitude is not a sickness suffered by dogs. Keep a green tree in your heart, and, perhaps, a singing bird will come.”

Guy almost blushed, and a small smile tugged at his mouth. He was impressed with Robin’s courage in the eyes of death. “Always witty, Robin Hood?”

Robin chuckled slightly. “Naturally. I never end a day without a good-natured laugh.” His expression grew serious as he requested, “Take care of Marian, Gisborne, regardless of what happens between the two of you. Don’t let the sheriff kill her.”

“I will protect her,” Guy promised. A wave of weakness swept through him, and he noticed that blood again started pouring out of his wounds.

In a quavering voice woven of grief and anguish, Marian murmured, “Robin, I am so sorry.”  Fresh tears stung he eyes, and she hastily wiped them away.

A tender smile on his face, Robin looked at Marian. “It is alright. Just remember me.”

“Always,” Marian whispered.

Robin’s eyebrow shot upward. “Then a little bird may fly away.”

“You will never change, Robin.” Marian smiled feebly at his last witty barb. A storm of tears was threatening to assault her, but she struggled to control herself.

Guy averted his gaze; he was jealous to Robin, despite the fact that his rival was on deathbed.

The witnesses of the hero’s death exchanged some more farewell words with Robin. Soon only Much and King Richard stayed near a dying Robin. The others respectfully stepped aside at Robin’s request.

A heartbroken Much seated himself on the sand, looking at Robin through a blinding mist of tears. He worshiped Robin who was not only Much's former master, but his brother and his best friend. It didn't matter that Robin hadn't always treated Much as an equal, and that Robin's sometimes callous attitude hurt him. Much wanted Robin to live and be happy; he didn't know how he would live without Robin.

“Master… Robin…” Much stuttered. “You cannot die! I love you too much to ever let you go!”

“It is fine, Much. I told you today that I feel my life has reached a logical end, and I was right,” Robin said quietly; his eyes were foggy, he blinked. “My mission is over.”

“Oh, Robin, please don’t leave me! I will die without you! You are everything to me! I love you so much!” Unable to speak for the knot of tears blocking his own throat, Much trailed off.

“Much, my dear Much, you are my best friend,” Robin breathed ecstatically, and a dazzling smile illuminated his pale face. “I will always be in your heart, with you.”

“Robin… Robin…” King Richard was shaking his head, in sheer shock.

“Much, always remember that I love you,” Robin whispered, struggling to keep his voice steady as a new tide of pain rolled through him.

“Oh, Robin! Don’t leave me!” Much entreated.

Richard took his brother’s hand gently but firmly, and Robin squeezed it as the last gesture of affection for the king. “Sire, tell _her_ that I regret we didn’t have more time to talk. I blame her for nothing,” he said honestly, glancing straight into the king’s eye.

The king grasped the extremely important meaning of Robin’s words: Robin implied Eleanor of Aquitaine. Nodding, he pledged, “I will.”

“Don’t forget me, sire,” Robin told the king.

“Never, Robin.” Unshed tears stood in Richard’s eyes; his control nearly slipped.

Robin lifted his eyes and stared at the heavens. “I have forgotten how beautiful the sky is.” He gritted his teeth as a wave of pain shot through his abdomen. He wanted to die at least not to feel the unbearable pain.

For a moment, Robin’s mind drifted back to the engagement ring which he had given Marian on the date of their first proposal; it was a gorgeous silver ring with the massive sapphire center carved in the shape of a flower and three small oval cut diamonds set around the sapphire. He didn’t forget Marian, and he kept this ring in the inner pocket of his tunic. He also wore a great golden ring with a large amethyst in the center, which was surrounded by ten small diamonds; it was his wedding ring. Robin chuckled at the irony of the situation: he would die wearing two rings and would be buried with them, and that thought pleased him.

Robin reached out for his own scimitar. His hand found the hilt of the sword, and his eyes met Richard’s. He pulled out the sword and cried out in pain. His grip on the scimitar loosened, and the sword slipped to the sand. Robin’s right hand found the lion’s and squeezed it, and Much grabbed his left hand.

“Shhh,” the king said, stroking the beautiful mane of Robin’s impishly cut sandy hair.

Robin sighed. A light, almost airy smile of relief spread across his features, and Robin glanced between the king and Much, giving them his most charming smile, his farewell smile. His eyes registered the look of love and sorrow on their faces, and he smiled again. He could feel the music of death in his blood and in his chest, and then a strange disorientation struck him as his vision began to blur and then clear again. He could feel a shadow of death approach him, opening its mouth voraciously, and just for a moment, he was afraid, for this shadow was shadow darker than the shadow of the night.

Robin’s pale blue eyes were almost limpid, as bright and blue as a cloudless summer sky. “That’s better,” he murmured. His heart collapsed, and Robin shut his eyes as deadening gloom seemed to deepen around him; he went still, very still.

“Robin?” Much called, craving to hear his friend’s answer, but Robin was silent.

Richard brushed away a tear that was coursing down his cheek. He bowed his head, respectfully and in deep sorrow. “Robin is gone,” he spelled out in a hollow voice.

Much shook his head. “No, no, no!” He didn’t want to accept Robin’s death.

“He is gone,” the king repeated, tears brimming in his eyes.

“No,” Much whispered.

In most plaintive tones, Richard promulgated, “We will never forget our heroic Robin, England’s greatest hero and my most beloved friend!  The reward for all his good deeds is eternal peace in heaven! God rest his soul!” He planted a brotherly kiss on Robin’s forehead.

As darkness swallowed him, a dying Robin felt the ground beneath him trembling. His heart stopped beating, and he didn't breathe; he was dead. He felt strange vibrations seeping through his heart and into his bones, quivering his soul into an ecstasy of relief from dying. The pain in his stomach evaporated as if it had never existed, and he felt as if he were plunging into enigmatic oblivion, slowly losing vital strength but gaining the blessed sensations of special grace and peace in his heart.

Robin’s entire world was filled with the light that was growing stronger, coalescing into spheres. It was the last eruption of his dying brain, but it was still odd as he clearly saw everything around him illuminated by the light of heaven. Robin felt a gentle glow of light on his skin, and he could see something moving in that light – the dim shape of someone’s figure. Then someone talked to him, and visions in his mind began shifting and changing. Robin watched his past and listened to the voice, and the light was growing stronger and brighter. A new burst of light flashed in his brain, and all at once, everything around him was ablaze with sparkling and changing images.

But opaque darkness was swirling around Robin with a hellish persistence. Still, the dazzling fragments, the scintillating shards of a dream, flew at him, piercing his senses, embedding themselves deeply into his perception. But darkness was swiftly enveloping him, and he was defenseless before that onslaught. Robin surrendered to the dizzying torrent, drowning in the onrushing flood of emptiness and void, falling deeper and deeper into darkness with no end. He felt nothing more and tumbled into a dark abyss.

All in Imuiz seemed unusually peaceful, as if there were no wars, no bloodshed, and no terror. Yet, death had stalked Robin Hood and took him away from his king, his friends, the world, and the Holy Land. Like a little bird flying from one place to another with the change of seasons, Robin was everywhere and nowhere all at once, engaging himself in a lethal dance of death. The hot air was redolent with the fragrance of heaven and was vibrating with plangent rhythms of a funeral dirge, as if all the Gods of Olympus were playing on their harps, singing their ancient mournful song in Robin’s memory and honor.

Marian again dissolved into tears, her shoulders racked by sobs. “Robin! He didn’t deserve to die!” she cried out through the tears, her broken heart singing a threnody of pain and at the same time, writhing in the piercing agony of grief. “ _What a_ loss _to me – to us_!” she corrected herself with beautiful generosity and for decency’s sake. She then added in a murmur, “ _To England and to the world_!”

Marian had said that Robin’s death was a great loss to her! Guy stared at her with that wide and immense stare that was embracing, condemning, and loathing her at the same time. She instinctively shrank from him, as if fearing to establish a contact with the devil, and she seemed to hear the whispered cry, “I am jealous to Robin Hood!”

Guy’s visage was tinged with irritation for a moment before he put on a mask of blandness on his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he supplied sincerely.

Although the inner tension didn’t leave her body, she whispered, “I am sorry too.” Her mind drifted back to the deceased hero, and tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. “Robin didn’t deserve to die. He should have lived a long and happy life.”

“The world is unfair,” Guy commented with prescience.

Guy gently scooped Marian into his arms, and she went into his embrace, and they stood together, arms around each other. The comfort of his hug brought some balm to her frazzled soul, but her pain and her longing for Robin were so sharp and strong that she couldn’t utter a word and began to cry harder. The colossal depth of Marian’s grief and the tempestuous anguish of her soul were weighed heavily upon her.

Guy was still jealous to Robin and was also concerned about the comeliness of their personal situation as his wife was so obviously heartbroken over the death of her former betrothed. Banishing such selfish thoughts from his head, Guy let Marian cry, holding her tightly against him, feeling her tears wet the front of his tunic. However, after his reconciliation with the hero, Guy felt at peace with his sworn enemy, whom he had hated for so long and for whom he felt such a deep and real sympathy now; there was also gratitude in his heart for Robin’s noble actions right before the hero’s death. A conglomeration of his feelings for Robin Hood was so odd for Guy, as if he had come to a place of mysteries not fit for him to behold.

Everyone bowed their heads in deep respect to the heroic Robin of Locksley. A disconsolate Much again broke into loud, heartrending sobs and sank to his knees. King Richard stared numbly at Robin, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. A grief-stricken and exhausted Richard and his companions merely stood with bowed heads, welcoming the black numbness offered by a short break between battles. Their grief was overpowering, the scene of Robin’s death etched into their minds until doomsday.

§§§

A heart-searing scream of pain and anguish gushed from the very depths of Marian’s soul. She was looking at Robin’s lifeless body, hot tears of sorrow, shame, and despair flowing from her eyes. She disentwined herself from Guy’s embrace, and he let her go. She sank slowly to the sand, her head inclined, the skirts of her white gown stained with Robin’s blood. She knew that she would live every day of her life with the memory of Robin’s tragic death which was engraved into her mind forever. She was a broken woman, as if she had lost everything when Robin had drawn his last breath.

Much approached Marian and seated on the sand next to her. He didn’t forgive her for marrying Guy, but he anyway felt closer to her than to anyone else in the courtyard. After all, they had known each other for many years; they had grown up together.

“It is so unfair. Robin didn’t deserve to die,” Marian began.

Much swallowed his sobs. “I cannot believe that Robin is dead. I just cannot.”

“And neither can I,” Marian retorted as she turned her tear-stained face to him.

“When we fought here, in the Holy Land, and when we lived in Sherwood, I always wanted to protect Robin. I was ready to die for him.” He stared at Marian gravely, his heart splintering into thousands of tiny shards. “I failed to save him from the sheriff.”

She shook her head. “It is not your fault, Much.”

Guy stood behind Much and Marian. He heard every word they had uttered, but he didn’t intrude, thinking that Marian and Much needed some time to share grief over Robin’s death. After all, Much and Marian were two people whom Robin had loved most of all in his life and who had probably known him much better than anyone else. Guy frequently intercepted Much’s hateful glances, and a sense foreboding that he would have to face the man’s wrath and hatred rather soon stole over him.

“I must have been here, in the courtyard!” Much roared, his eyes brimming with tears. “I must have saved him! I must have killed the sheriff before he could kill the best and greatest man in the world!”

“Don’t blame yourself. Robin wouldn’t want you to think that you failed him,” Marian soothed.

“Robin... made this world a better place,” Much lamented. “Life will never be good without him.”

“Robin will always be in our hearts.” Fresh tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them away.

“Even in your heart?” Much asked in a voice tinged with doubt.

“We know each other very well. You and I knew Robin for so long. We are feeling the great pain for the loss of Robin.” Marian’s voice was struggling to keep emotions and tears in check, but she was failing. “You understand my pain, and I understand yours.”

Much’s mouth tightened, his eyes narrowed. “Lady Marian, you look broken. But I wonder whether you indeed suffer as much as it seems at first glance.” He scrambled to his feet and walked away.

Marian was still sitting on the sand. Her conversation with Much, who despised her, was the last straw. She was sliding into a sea of abysmal despair and hopelessness. She cupped her face and let herself weep, not caring that someone else would witness her breakdown. Guy watched Marian with bated breath; he longed to hug her, but he knew that she wouldn’t accept his help and support at the moment.

Guy turned his head and ran his eyes over the courtyard, his gaze falling on King Richard, who was still sitting near Robin; the monarch’s head was bowed, his eyes focused on Robin’s peaceful face. The other participants of dramatic events were waiting nearby. The king was wounded and needed urgent medical help, but he demanded that nobody interrupt him as he wanted to have some more time with Robin.

Guy felt darkness filling his heart. What hurt him was not only the acute pain in his shoulder: he was more hurt by the feeling that he hadn’t stopped Vaisey in time. He touched his shoulder, and, again feeling dizzy, he slipped to the ground.

“Hey, mate, how are you?” Allan said behind Guy’s back.

Guy flicked his gaze to the young blonde man. “As good as it is possible.”

Allan eyed Guy with concern. “Isabella wounded you.”

“Yes, she did.”

“You need a doctor. Maybe Djaq will examine you later.”

“I don’t need anyone’s help.” Guy pressed his hand to the wounds, trying to stop the bleeding.

Allan seated himself on the sand next to Guy. He assessed shrewdly, “You look weak, Guy. Most likely, you will contract a fever soon.”

“It is not your deal, Allan. You are no longer my man,” Guy snapped rudely. “You ran away from me in the dead of night. I gave you everything, but you betrayed me.”

Allan looked uncomfortable. “I am not gonna defend myself. I had to warn Roger de Lacy and save the king,” he supplied. “I couldn’t kill King Richard and Robin.”

“The king is safe, Allan.”

“King Richard is alive, but Robin is dead.” His eyes filled with compassion, Allan looked at Guy. “Guy, I didn’t want to hurt you. I grew quite fond of you.”

Guy choked out a mirthless laugh, his tone bitter. “I trusted you, but you ran to Robin Hood’s friend – Roger de Lacy. Marian betrayed me to Hood as well. Everyone betrays me to Hood.”

“I had betrayed Robin before I betrayed you,” Allan flung back at him. “And is it a betrayal if I did the right thing?”

Gisborne averted his gaze. “Allan, leave.”

“Guy, your problem is that you cannot accept your own faults,” Allan voiced his observation. “Marian is right. You are a good man, but you stepped on the wrong path, and I was lost with you.”

“And where will you be now?”

“I will swear fealty to King Richard, and I will do what he orders.”

Guy smirked. “A treacherous liar is finally trying to become a better man?”

“I am a liar and a thief, but I couldn’t allow the sheriff and you to murder the king. And I felt guilty for betraying my friends. I am glad that I am on the right side again.” Allan ran his eyes over the courtyard, focusing on the king who still sat near Robin. “Look, mate, King Richard is heartbroken. He clearly loves Robin. This is not funny. The regicide in Imuiz must have never happened.”

Guy and Allan swung their gazes to the king, who had just dismissed Djaq; the young Saracen was worried for the wounded monarch, but his wound was not what the king was thinking of. Then Roger de Lacy came and told to Richard something; the lion nodded, and de Lacy stepped aside. Richard was completely devastated, the intensity of his grief almost leaving him cataleptic.

“King Richard is an unusual man,” Guy opined. “Obviously, he loves Robin Hood.”

Allan chuckled. “Mate, the king worships his beloved Robin!”

“Maybe,” Guy said dryly. “After all, Hood saved the king’s life many times.”

A thoughtful Allan ruminated, “I was annoyed when Robin bragged about his friendship with the king. I didn’t understand Robin’s passionate devotion to the Lionheart. But now I do understand.”

Guy and Allan were silent. They watched Roger de Lacy again kneel on the sand beside the king and Robin. King Richard finally agreed to leave Robin and allowed de Lacy to help him rise. Unexpectedly, Richard looked ahead with barely noticeable tears in his eyes, and his eyes met Guy’s. Guy could swear that he saw pure contempt mingled with something else in the king’s eyes; he guessed the lion wished Guy to die instead of Robin. It was the most frightening moment he could remember in many long years.

Everyone was overwhelmed with grief to pay attention to what was going on around them. The wind was strengthening, and from the desert, a heavy sandstorm was gradually approaching Imuiz and Acre.

The distant sound of heavy hooves on the soft ground came nearer with every moment. Then came a hubbub of voices, Norman-French and English, and a small army of Crusaders emerged in a distance. The party of the king’s men was headed by the young, dark-haired knight and the cooper-haired young lady; they were Sir Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester, and Lady Melisende Plantagenet, Countess de Bordeaux in her own right and Countess of Huntingdon through her marriage to Robin.

They stopped in the middle of the courtyard, their gazes briefly lingering on the people in the middle of the square and then falling at the king and Much, who still were close to Robin’s body. Instead of the king, now a sobbing Much was leaning over his friend’s body; Much’s Crusader tunic was stained with Robin’s blood. Richard stood in a few steps from where Robin lay; he was supported by de Lacy and Little John.

The Crusaders dismounted, their eyes searching for their king. As the realization of the tragedy sank in, they turned to the dead hero, their eyes widening in horror.

“Oh, my Lord! No, no!” the Earl of Leicester cried out in shock; his expression was shocked. “Damn Sheriff Vaisey! Damn the Black Knights!”

Melisende clutched Robert’s hand. “Robert, tell me is that… Robin?” She stammered, her heart sinking into her throat as a horrible apprehension seized her.

“I fear we are… too late,” Leicester managed to say; tears stung his eyes.

Marian looked attentively at the young lady with red-gold hair and classic features. She found her extraordinarily beautiful in her snowy muslin gown with airy silk sleeves, cut low enough to be considered indecent and revealing a lot, enhancing the splendor of a gorgeous amethyst necklace that adorned her bosom. Then Marian noticed that the girl's hair was the same color as the king's. With a sickening feeling of trepidation, she realized that the woman was Robin’s new wife.

Melisende’s violet eyes locked with Marian’s. Her features were regally cold, tears glistening in her eyes. “Robin… is he…?” She couldn’t say that aloud.

“I am so sorry,” Marian said, staring into the other woman’s eyes.

For an instant, the two ladies felt united in their grief, but then Marian turned her head away to avoid Melisende’s gaze. She saw grief sweep over Robin’s wife, and it was difficult for her to share her own grief with Robin’s wife. She couldn’t do that without ignoring her own emotions – her feelings for Robin and memories of Robin and herself. With a thundering heart, Marian witnessed Melisende slowly walk over to Robin and settle on the sand, her head falling against Robin’s shoulder.

Melisende couldn't restrain herself, and a wave of tears effused from her eyes as she broke into a storm of tumultuous sobbing. Her body was shaking as her cries of pain and agony echoed through the courtyard, together with Much’s violent sobbing.

King Richard stepped closer to Melisende. “Robin heroically saved my life,” he announced. “He sacrificed himself to save England and his king.”

“He was a hero; always a hero,” Melisende whispered through the tears.

Tears came to the king’s eyes, and Richard brushed them away, hastily, in order not to let the others see them. “It is my fault. I should have done many things differently today. I must not have gone to the meeting with Saladin’s imposter in the desert.”

Melisende raised her eyes to face the king, her cousin. “Richard, don’t say that. It is not your fault.” Her body trembled. “Promise me that the murderer will pay.”

The lion nodded. “I swear the Black Knights will pay. I will spill their treacherous blood in revenge for his death.” He spoke with the full severity of the one who had power and willingness to take lives and punish mortals for their crimes.

“Who… killed Robin?” Leicester approached the king, his eyes glued to his friend.

“Sheriff Vaisey! I hate him! I want him dead!” Much seethed with hatred.

“I should have killed the sheriff when I was in England,” de Lacy hissed as he appeared next to Robin. His heart was in tatters as his eyes were darting between his dead friend, the distraught Much, and Robin’s sobbing wife.

 “I swear Vaisey will pay for all the regicide attempts and for Robin’s death,” Richard vowed, his voice deadly and chilly. “He will die a slow and painful death.” He gritted his teeth, his expression revealing murderous rage. “Then he will burn in hell.”

A lethal fell over the Crusaders, their faces saturnine, their heads bowed in respect to Captain Locksley’s sacrifice. Some Knights Templar fell to their knees and started praying for Robin’s soul. The sight of Robin’s body caused the aching feeling in the hearts of Robin’s comrades and the vulnerability in the voices of those who prayed from the bottom of their hearts that Robin would find eternal peace in heaven.

The Earl of Leicester looked into the distance and released a sequence of rude curses. The wind was blowing from the desert, and a sandstorm was moving towards Imuiz, threatening to wreak havoc upon the town. They had to leave before great gusts of sand-filled wind arrived.

The king looked around, his eyes searching for his second savior; then he stared at de Lacy. “Where is the young man who saved my life after Robin had been wounded?”

De Lacy shrugged merely. “Archer disappeared.”

“How strange,” the king said curtly. “What about Carter and Edmund?”

“Edmund was killed. Carter is severely injured,” de Lacy informed.

Richard took in a deep, shuddering breath. “It is even worse than I thought.”

“Sire, a sandstorm is approaching,” Leicester notified.

“Really?” Melisende stared at Leicester, her violet eyes wide with fear.

“Yes.” Leicester nodded.

“We have to leave,” de Lacy asserted.

The king nodded his assent. “Prepare for our departure.” He groaned as pain shot through his shoulder. “Take Edmund and… Robin to the Citadel of Acre; we will bury them tomorrow. Take care of Carter.”

A sad Leicester bowed his head. “As you command, milord.”

An anxious Marian came to Guy. She saw that Guy was barely able to stand and urgently needed help. Guy still sat on the sand, looking up at her with vacant eyes, and she seated on the sand, but he made no attempt to engulf her in an embrace.

“Sir Guy of Gisborne, it has been ages since we last met,” a voice spoke behind them.

Guy looked at the intruder; he didn’t stand up from the sand. Marian turned and abruptly rose to her feet. The flame-haired Crusader, his hair a shade lighter than Richard’s hair, stood near them; the man looked somber as his eyes scanned the couple.

Guy’s face lit up with a smile in recognition of the newcomer whom he had once considered his friend. Marian glanced at Guy, raising a quizzical brow.

Guy smiled. “Sir Roger de Tosny, Baron de Conches! I am delighted to meet you.”

De Tosny surveyed Guy with a humorless smirk. “I cannot say that I share your feelings, Guy.” He sighed heavily. “Circumstances are too… specific… and very tragic.”

“At least we met one another!” Guy enthused.

“I often remembered you throughout all the years since you left my service in Rouen,” de Tosny said, looking down at Guy. “But what I see now is even remotely far from what I would wish to see on the day of our long-awaited meeting.”

“I understand.” Guy lowered his head, staring down at his palm that was pressed tightly against his shoulder. Trickles of sweat dripped down the side of his face. “I am sorry that I am not greeting you properly.”

“You are wounded, Guy. Why were you here with Sheriff Vaisey?” De Tosny asked anxiously; he watched Guy grimace in pain mingled with shame.

Grief and vulnerability crossed Guy’s face, and then blankness masked his emotions. “Isabella… was here with the sheriff; she conspired with him to kill the king. She shot many arrows at me when I tried to stop Vaisey.”

“All is even worse than I thought,” de Tosny replied after a short pause, shaking his head in disbelief. “Our doctor will take care of your wound once we get out of here.”

Guy was ready to face his fate now. “What will happen to me, then?”

“So Guy won’t be executed after Robin spoke for him to the king?” Marian asked hopefully.

“The king ordered to put Guy under house arrest until further instructions,” de Tosny informed.

Struck with panic, Marian cried out, “Guy didn’t want to kill the king! The king promised to let Guy go!”

De Tosny nodded at Marian, and then glanced at Guy. “I know. The king told the Earl of Leicester that he would pardon you, Guy, because Robin entreated him to spare you before his death,” he said in a melancholic voice. “Robin was a noble-minded, generous-hearted, and good man – purely and integrally good. I am so sad that I called him a bloody traitor during our last meeting, when the sheriff’s despicable plot falsely exposed the ever-loyal Robin, of all people, as a wretched traitor.” He looked heavenward for a brief moment, then gazed back at Guy. “We could have avoided this tragedy if Robin and Roger had not been accused of treason.”

“Oh,” Guy was only able to say; he then lowered his eyes in shame.

“What do you want to say, Sir Roger?” Marian questioned cautiously.

“Nothing interesting for a lady’s ears,” de Tosny said coolly as he looked at Marian from top to toe. “Don’t interfere when you shouldn’t do that.”

“I am sorry…” Marian muttered, not understanding for what she apologized. “And… what will happen to Robin now?” He drowned in a sea of grief, and her breath caught.

De Tosny gazed into the distance. “We have to leave now. We are taking… Robin with us; the funeral will be when the king decides. A sandstorm will be here very soon.”

“That is very dangerous,” Guy commented.

“Exactly. If we don’t leave, we risk being buried under the dust and die from suffocation,” de Tosny explained.  “I have to leave you now. We will talk later.”

Guy attempted to climb to his feet, but the searing pain rushed through him in the area of his right shoulder, and he staggered backwards. Blackness was permeated his entire being; his shoulders slumped, and he slid to the ground.

De Tosny and Marian crouched beside Guy. De Tosny embraced Guy about his back, while Marian wrapped her arm around Guy’s waist. They saw a pool of blood on the sand beneath Guy.

“Hold on, Guy,” de Tosny murmured. “We will get you to Acre soon.”

“I am again losing blood,” Guy muttered.

“You will survive, Guy,” Marian promised.

Gisborne heard de Tosny shout orders to the king’s guards. He saw Marian’s worried expression and Roger’s figure towering over him; he heard voices of other men, speaking in Norman-French. His vision was blurry; his hearing seemed muffled. He heard voices and saw shadows moving towards him; straining his eyesight, he was able to distinguish three Crusaders near them. Then Guy plunged into darkness.

“He passed out,” Marian surmised.

“Yes,” de Tosny confirmed. “Carry him to the horse. Try to be careful as he is wounded,” he ordered to the king’s guards who stood, waiting for his command.

The Earl of Leicester and Roger de Lacy helped King Richard mount his horse; the lion was lightheaded and dizzy, both from his wound and the heartbreak from Robin’s murder. De Tosny was ordered to guard Guy and Marian and walked them to their horses. Much kept close to Melisende and Robert de Beaumont as they were walking to their horses and the Crusaders. Everyone hurried to mount and get away from Imuiz, spurring horses forward and heading to Acre.

As his body was drenched in blood, Robin was wrapped in King Richard’s own red and gold velvet mantle, which the king had taken off and given to his beloved soldier as a sign of his sincere love, profound grief, and deep respect. They didn’t have a wagon to transport Robin to Acre and, thus, had to place him on a horse, tying his body to the horse so that he didn't fall off; he was guarded by several men. But when they began to move, a sharp gust of wind rose up and caused the horse to bolt and gallop away, carrying Robin towards the desert.

The guards were so frightened that they didn’t try to catch the frightened horse carrying their captain’s body. The instinct of life preservation prevailed over their sense of duty to the king and their captain. They chose to leave the hero in the desert and let the horse disappear from sight, trying to save their own lives.

The strong wind blew furiously. Everything seemed to shatter around, which made everyone petrified with dread as large plumes of dust rose from the ground and enveloped all those who still were in the courtyard. All the guards hurried to flee Imuiz. They joined other king’s men who had already departed from the town. They were ashamed of leaving their captain behind, cursing God for sending the sandstorm exactly at the moment when they were about to leave the town.

Standing near an Arabic building, Archer observed the approaching sandstorm, his heart seized with the pain he had felt in the light of Robin’s death. His eyes caught the horse with Robin’s body as the animal was galloping across the sandy dunes, away from Imuiz and into the heart of the desert. He felt his heart beating faster as he realized that the stallion was riding away without a rider and carrying only Robin’s corpse.

Archer felt that he was obliged to stop the horse and take Robin’s body back to the Crusaders’ camp. He ran towards his horse, mounted, and rode off right into the desert, chasing after Robin’s horse. As he reached the horse, he managed to stop it, with great difficulty and still riding. Clouds of dust were whirling around him, but Archer cared about nothing, determined to take Robin and deliver him to Acre.

Cursing aloud in Arabic which he knew very well, Archer pulled Robin off the horse. As he carefully placed Robin on the sand, he eyed his hands covered with Robin’s blood. Then he looked down at Robin, his deceased half-brother, and his heart constricted in his chest; he had failed to save Robin, but at least he found the hero’s body. A new gust of the strong wind blew, bringing the dust from the dry deserts stretching miles ahead and coating everything with gritty desert dust. A sensation of dust in his eyes and on his skin brought Archer to his senses; he realized that they had been in the center of the heavy sandstorm and in the empty desert, relatively far from Imuiz and Acre.

“At least you, Robin Hood, are already in heaven after saving the king, while I am in hell – in the sandstorm,” Archer said to himself, his eyes fixed on Robin’s pale face.

There was no way Archer could take Robin back to Acre. The sandstorm was blowing fiercely, and Archer couldn’t speak as his mouth and nostrils were nearly clogged. A feverish panic inundated him at the thought that he had ridden into the desert to face his own death. There were only whirling sand and hellish screaming of the wind around him. His entire being overwhelmed with mortal dread, Archer pulled Robin to himself.

Robin hugged Robin closer, as if seeking his brother’s moral support. “And now I am going to follow you, Robin. Very soon I will join you in heaven,” he mused. It was his last coherent thought. His head was pounding, and his brain was unable to function properly; then darkness claimed him.

The next time Archer awoke seemingly at sunset, his mouth dry and his nostrils clogged; he was breathing with his mouth only. The sky was a glowing crimson canvas, inexpressibly beautiful and eerily biblical. He lay motionless for some time, unable to understand whether he was dead or alive, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He tried to move his body, but his muscles were stiff and tense; it seemed that he couldn’t move, as if his mobility were restricted.

Archer turned his head and saw the hero’s sandy-colored head. Robin lay next to him on the sand, his face looking heavenward but turned away from Archer. Archer turned the dead man’s head to him and scrutinized his brother’s face. Robin was ghostly pale; his lips were tightly compressed, his eyes shut. Robin looked like a dead man, his face imbued with a sense of peace, which both allayed and frightened Archer.

Archer gently put a hand on Robin’s forehead. “ _Your skin is so hot_ , Robin Hood,” he assessed in a voice woven of incredibility and astonishment. He brushed his hand across his own face. “My skin is colder than yours.” He raised his eyes to the sinking sun and sniggered. “Damn these lands! The sun heats up everyone!”

Archer shuddered in horror as his gaze fell on the huge stain of dried blood on Robin’s abdomen. Archer thought that if he were destined to die in the desert, he would have preferred to be buried with Robin in the same grave, for they were brothers.

“So, I am still alive, eh?” Archer said to himself under his breath. “You look peaceful, brother. I hope you are happy in heaven. Maybe death is not so awful.” He spoke to Robin as if the dead man were alive and addressing the hero as his brother.

Archer lay quiet and motionless, watching the sun go down the sandy slope. For some time, his mind was focused on the absolute stillness around him. His mind was working slowly, the effect of terror and exhaustion, but he had the disquieting feeling that he was forgetting something important. It struck Archer that if he wanted to survive, then he had to find shelter lest a new sandstorm brew in the desert. With great effort, he lifted himself into a sitting position and looked around, his eyes fixing on a nearby sandy hill, where he discerned the outlines of an entrance to a small cave.

He pulled himself to his feet only on the third attempt. He stood swaying, dizziness drilling through his temples. He looked at the sandy hill and distinguished the outlines of the cave. He had an idea to leave Robin and save himself while he still had time to escape and hide, but the guilt for serving Vaisey and contributing to Robin’s death weighed down heavily on Archer. He leaned down and gripped Robin’s arms, then started dragging Robin’s body into the cave, cursing in his mind Sheriff Vaisey and Prince John and the day when he had met Malcolm of Locksley in Constantinople and then had taken an oath of vengeance on Robin of Locksley.

“Be at ease, Robin. I am taking you with me; I will not leave you,” Archer said as he continued dragging Robin to the cave. “It is good that you are not that heavy.”

Inside the cave, an exhausted Archer tumbled to the rocky ground. Suddenly, he heard the howling wind outside; a new sandstorm was brewing, and he thanked his better instincts that had told him to find shelter in the cave. Archer engulfed Robin into a protective embrace, covering their faces almost completely to decrease the risk of having mouths and nostrils clogged. Robin’s face was pressed to Archer’s chest, one of Archer’s arms wrapped around Robin’s back and the other covering his own face.

The sandstorm painted the world in brown. The violent eddies of air currents crashed against the walls of the cave, and the wind was blowing so hard that Archer could feel the dust pierce his skin. It seemed that the world was shattered into different realms, in one of which two unfortunate men were incarcerated in hell on earth. In this moment, the dead Robin seemed to be Archer’s only safe haven in a world of darkness, peril, and death. Just in a few heartbeats, Prince John’s former assassin was again swallowed in clouds of churning dust, and pure darkness of the night swallowed him.

§§§

Guy was lying on a large bed draped in amber brocade, looking at the ceiling of the bedroom. He was bare-chested, one muscled arm under his head, the other positioned next to him, his legs stretched across the soft sheets. Ten days passed since the regicide attempt in Imuiz, and his wounds were healing well, but it was still painful for him to move his arm; every day, Marian came to him and helped him dress or undress. Guy was glad that he could spend some time in solitude until his injuries healed.

As his mind drifted back to the recent events in Acre, Guy experienced a strong sense of unreality and terror. Due to a sandstorm, the king and others had made their way to the Citadel of Acre and the king’s camp in time; only a few guards had been caught in the sandstorm. On the same evening, the king had contracted a high fever as infection from the injury caused by Vaisey’s arrow had been spreading in his body, threatening to take the monarch’s life and, thus, making Robin’s sacrifice even more tragic.

It was odd that Guy’s three wounds from Isabella’s arrows were not as serious as the king’s shoulder wound from the sheriff’s arrow. Yet, Guy had succumbed to fever a few hours after the regicide attempt; he had lost a lot of blood. For several days, he had been feverish, and his life had been in danger, but his condition hadn’t been as bad as King Richard’s. Despite being kept under house arrest, he was lodged in the luxurious guests’ quarters in the Citadel of Acre. Marian and one of the king’s physicians were allowed to take care of him; no other visits were permitted.

The sandstorm had roared in Acre throughout three days, breaking trees in every oasis and ruining houses in villages and towns; the entire area between Acre and Arsuf was severely damaged. The terrible disaster had killed more than several hundreds of civilians in all the areas near the cities of Acre and Jaffa.

Guy’s fever had broken on the fifth day after the tragic events in Imuiz. The king’s fever could have a lethal outcome or have a long-term detrimental effect on the king’s health. Not knowing how to treat his sovereign’s wound, the king’s physician requested that Djaq assist him in nursing him back to health; the medical knowledge of Richard’s doctor proved to be inferior to Djaq’s knowledge of the Saracen medicine. The Lionheart was locked in the fierce battle with death, and everyone prayed for his recovery.

The tragedy in Imuiz cast an epicedian gloom on the world that seemed to envelop him from head to toe, like the shadow of a passing cloud. Marian had informed Guy that everyone was in deep mourning for two famous warriors – Sir Robin of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon, and Sir Edmund of Cranfield, the Earl of Middlesex. It was unbelievable that the head of the private guard and his second-in-command had been killed on the same day and in the same battle, which made the regicide attempt in Imuiz even more dramatic for the king’s soldiers and many others.

Guy wasn’t surprised that Vaisey and Isabella had fled Acre and now were heading to England. Guy knew that the sheriff had prepared a ship in the harbor of Acre in advance for a quick escape; he had informed Roger de Tosny about that. The king would surely take vengeance against them later, for Richard always kept his word, whether it was a word to pardon or to execute, to give a reward or to expel in disgrace. Punishment would just come in a due time, and everyone knew that.

The whole city of Acre and the Crusader States were officially in mourning for Robin of Locksley and Edmund of Cranfield. The news of Robin’s sacrifice had swiftly traveled across the Holy Land, and everyone was in a lugubrious mood. Robin’s death was the death of an iconic figure which hit them all hard and brought chasmal sorrow to their hearts. The king’s men were mourning the loss of Robin and Edmund, for the two men were adored and admired, especially Robin who inspired not only his men in the king’s private guard but also everyone in the king’s army. Saladin and the Saracen princes, Prince Malik and Prince Al-Afdal, had sent their personal condolences to King Richard.

Roger de Tosny was keeping Vaisey’s former henchman under heavy guard in the Citadel of Acre. After his awakening, Guy was astonished that he was held prisoner in a separate bedroom; only a few people were allowed to visit him. Roger de Tosny spoke to Guy only when necessary; he also asked politely what Guy needed, but the prisoner needed nothing special. Guy was astounded that he was treated respectfully, although the guards cast accusing glances at him and even at Marian who often visited Guy in his temporary prison; the Crusaders were trying to guess why the king had commanded to keep Guy imprisoned but not to execute him for his participation in regicide.

Guy examined his surroundings curiously. The chamber was spacious and cozy in a decidedly masculine way. The walls were whitewashed, and the windows were hung with amber muslin curtains. Many pieces of elegant walnut furniture were scattered tastefully about the area, and upon the floor lay a Turkish carpet, red, emerald, and gold tones rioting across it in a bold design. There was also a small walnut dressing table with a matching mirror above it; a marble-topped washing stand stood in one of the corners. Guy liked the room and found it soothing to his saturnine spirits.

Guy’s life was facing a new era, and new possibilities were taking shape in his mind.  Recent events had turned his life upside down, creating a world of unexpected prospects. Guy yearned to explore these uncharted waters, but it was a voyage which he had to postpone until the fog of uncertainty – in the form of the king’s will – had lifted.  His tumultuous emotions were swirling and scattering inside of him like leaves on a blustery day; he could be calm and contemplative one moment and the next shuddering in dread mingled with shame and guilt. Guy was absolutely confused – confused to the point of stupidity – that he felt so guilty of Robin Hood’s death.

Gisborne spent every day like there was no tomorrow, although at times his mind conjured pictures of his own death at the gallows somewhere in Acre or in the desert. It gladdened Guy that he still lived and breathed, but every breath he took was like a knife in his chest which twisted and mangled his flesh. The endless misery, and pain, and suffering were consistent with divine justice; yet, he was terrified of meeting with King Richard. Nevertheless, for all his fears, Guy wasn’t afraid of looking into death’s eyes, thinking that maybe death at the king’s order would be his final penance for his heinous crimes. He felt and behaved as if he had been tricked into that sort of high-minded resignation which precluded him lifting as much as his finger to save himself.

The sound of the opening door startled Guy out of his reverie. He turned his head, and his eyes met Marian’s as she entered the chamber. He watched her walk towards the bed; his face brightened a shade, but he didn’t smile. There was palpable tension in the air between them, and it was like something sucking the strength out of him, battering and wearing them down.

Marian seated herself into a chair near the bed, staring at Guy with eyes he couldn’t read. A formidable, sepulchral silence stretched on between them, and it seemed that the two of them were like statues that embodied opposing views.

A thought struck Guy that there was a great deal of distrust and uncertainty between them which were traversing their inner cores, setting their nerves on the edge. The procrastination to discuss their situation, which was silently approved by each of them, was only heightening their negative feelings towards each other. Yet, none of them was ready to approach the subject of their relationship, as if they were not a husband and his wife but two strangers who didn’t want to encroach upon some private territory.

“Why have you come to me?” Guy broke the silence that became a burden to him.

Her eyes shining with concern, Marian asked, “How are you feeling today, Guy?”

“I am much better. Thank you,” he responded flatly.

She sighed with relief. “Good.”

“God, I am thirsty! The heat is unbearable!” Guy had never known such a burning thirst before. He drank a lot of water, and the soldiers who guarded him laughed at him when he asked to bring him more. He hated the climate in the Holy Land.

Marian stood up and ambled towards a table in the corner. She took a cup of water and returned to the bed; she handed Guy the cup, and he drank the water greedily. “The doctor said that your wounds are healing well,” she stated as she sank onto a chair.

Guy passed a hand across his forehead. “It is still painful to move my right arm.”

“I hope in several days it will get better.”

“Do you have any news about King Richard?”

“I only know that the king’s physician and Djaq are now in the king's chambers.”

“I wonder what will happen to me,” Guy said after a long pause.

Marian stiffened and gazed away. “Robin asked King Richard to pardon you, and the king gave his word to him. You are imprisoned, but in fact you live like a guest.”

“God’s blood!” Guy blustered. “The king has absolute power!” He lowered his voice. “I attempted regicide twice! Why should he pardon me?”

“Because Robin asked him, and he gave his word,” Marian reiterated.

Guy shook his head slowly. “I don’t know.”

“I know,” she asserted.

They heard quick footsteps in the corridor, and in a few moments, Sir Roger de Tosny entered. He nodded at Guy and then bowed to Marian. He looked between them and announced in an official voice, “King Richard wants to see you both tonight.”

There was silence for several strained moments. Guy climbed to his feet from the bed and stepped to de Tosny. Marian also leaped to her feet.

“The king awoke?” Marian questioned, her heart beating faster in hope.

De Tosny inclined his head. “Yes, he did. His fever broke in the early morning.”

Guy inquired in an agitated voice, “He will live?”

“Yes, he will,” Roger confirmed.

“Thanks to God!” Marian’s face brightened.

“Good,” Guy commented briefly.

“Have they… found Robin’s body?” Marian was nearly shaking as she spelled out the tormenting question; it took her much effort to control herself.

De Tosny coughed. “No, they haven’t. There is no body and no grave.”

A heavy silence reigned in the chamber as they silently gave tribute to Robin.

Marian’s eyes filled with tears. “Robin should be… buried as a hero.”

Guy locked his gaze with Marian's and said sympathetically, “Robin Hood deserves a better fate than to be buried under the piles of sand in the desert.”

“They are digging holes and sifting through the endless sand dunes surrounding Imuiz,” Roger reported gravely. “The king’s first order when he awoke was to find Robin’s body at any cost.”

“I pray they will find… Robin.” She couldn’t say Robin’s corpse, speaking about him as if he were alive.

A silence dripping with pain reined in the chamber for some time.

His eyes full of extreme anxiety, Roger de Tosny warned, “Guy, you should be very careful with King Richard,” he recommended. “Now the king’s temper is highly volatile, his spirits are very low, and he craves vengeance for Robin’s death.”

Since the king’s emergence from his slumber, his Angevin temper was hellish and exploded like a peal of thunder. The king’s soldiers believed that their liege’s temper could send anyone to death, fearing what the king would do to those who had lost the body of his beloved Robin in the desert.

“A volatile temper?” Marian arched a brow.

“Extremely volatile,” de Tosny confirmed. “Richard is furious. As soon as he learned that the guards had left Robin’s body in Imuiz, he ordered to arrest those unfortunate men. They were three men from the private guard, and four men from other guards.”

“What happened to them?” Marian’s forehead creased in worry.

De Tosny's brows drew together the slightest bit. “These guards were executed today, in two hours after their arrest.”

“Oh, my God! Poor men!” Marian looked horrified.

De Tosny elaborated, “The king executed them, stating that their duty was to deliver Robin to Acre at any cost, even if they had to die in the sandstorm.”

“But they didn’t deserve death,” Marian objected.

De Tosny spoke unequivocally. “It is insubordination because they disregarded the king’s order and fled Imuiz, leaving Robin’s body behind.” He sighed. “When you, Guy, wounded Robin in the Saracen attack, everyone feared to approach the king. Edmund of Cranfield, Robin’s second-in-command, could be executed.” He took a deep breath. “That night, half of the night guard was removed by James of Lambton, as we know now. But, at that time, the king could blame anyone for the fact that Robin, Much, several guards, and I were almost alone against the assassins.”

Guy's eyes flashed with anxiety. “I see.”

A worried Marian turned to him. “The angry king is dangerous,” she speculated.

“You must be very cautious,” de Tosny replied. “The king calmed down a little after the execution. Maybe you will be lucky in the afternoon, if his spirits don’t plummet.”

“I am a dead man walking,” Guy assumed.

De Tosny shook his head. “You are wrong, Guy. You are safe now.”

A decidedly doubtful light in his eyes, Guy questioned, “How do you know that the king will pardon me, especially if he wants revenge, which is perfectly understandable?”

“King Richard will pardon you because of Robin’s deathbed request,” Roger de Tosny replied; a dark look crossed over his face. “There are many things that can be said about our king, and among them his loyalty to his promises and his generosity to those who serve him well. If Richard gives his word, he keeps it.”

“I told you the same, Guy,” Marian interjected.

“We will see,” Guy said skeptically.

In a voice edged with chagrin, Roger de Tosny enlightened, “Guy, the Countess of Huntingdon demanded your execution today.” He paused, then added somberly, “The king had no desire to argue with Lady Melisende, but she was very insistent, and, eventually, they quarreled; guards heard it. You are intelligent enough to understand that she won’t be deterred.”

“What was the outcome?” Marian asked anxiously.

A celebratory smile curved de Tosny’s lips. “Richard refused to execute you, Guy. I know nothing else.” His eyes narrowed and hardened as they encountered Guy’s. “But I must say that if I were in the king’s shoes, I would have been tempted to have your head, Guy. After all, you tried to kill our king twice, and each time you were stopped by Robin. You most definitely knew about the sheriff’s vile plan to expose Robin as a traitor, the honorable and loyal Captain Locksley of all the men who served the king.”

At the sight of Roger’s censorious expression, so great was Guy’s sense of fear and apprehension that he quaked. “I know that I did many evil things.”

Roger regarded Guy curiously and nodded. “I am glad if you understand that, Guy. I am telling you the truth in your interests.”

“Oh, God…” Marian crossed her arms and pressed them tightly to her chest. “Robin could have been alive now if the sheriff hadn’t implemented his plan.”

Guy couldn’t look at his wife. “He could.”

“Sheriff Vaisey must possess a devilish wickedness that allowed him to design this damned plan,” Roger murmured as his gaze went from Guy to the window.

“Vaisey is a cunning devil,” Marian hissed.

De Tosny veered his gaze to Gisborne. “Guy, when you meet with the king, you must answer all his questions honestly. You must also confess to all your crimes, not just the two deeds you were caught red-handed in the Holy Land; you must and admit all your faults. I recommend that you show your repentance and obedience to our liege. Don’t provoke the king and choose your words carefully.”

“I will be cautious.” Guy was fearful of an audience with the king.

“Guy, I vouched to the king for you, but I can do nothing else," de Tosny informed. "I told Richard that you would never try to kill him again. Our liege listens to my advice, but he was adamant about executing you before Robin’s interference.”

The raven-haired young man smiled. “Thank you, Roger.”

A hard edge to his voice, de Tosny returned harshly, “I hope that now you will stop hating Robin. You owe him a lot. I am sure that if he hadn’t pleaded with the king for you, you would have already been dead.”

“I cannot deny that I… owe Robin Hood.” Guy’s voice was neutral, but his eyes were full of sincerity, also revealing a twinge of guilt that passed through him.

“Very well then,” de Tosny said. “I also advise that you wear dark clothes, like everyone is doing now. The king himself is wearing black attire today.”

Guy looked baffled. “I have only my black leather clothes; I will be dressed in black. But is it so necessary to wear dark colors like Marian is doing?” Truth be told, he wanted to get rid of black leather and all other reminders of the time when he had served Vaisey.

“Yes,” Marian answered with confidence.

De Tosny’s expression changed into a blend of reprehension and displeasure. “Yes, Guy. After all, everyone is mourning for two heroes – Robin and Edmund.” He sighed. “Two chief generals were killed on the same day.” He turned on his heels and exited.

Marian shut her eyes tightly. Memories of Robin danced through her brain, and the pain in her heart was as sharp as it had been the day before. A knot of nerves formed in her stomach, and her palms began to sweat, and she struggled to keep a calm façade.

Guy suddenly inquired, “How is that wounded man from Hood’s gang feeling?”

She heaved a sigh. “Do you mean Will?”

“He stood with the Saracen woman who was in Hood’s gang,” he clarified.

“His name is Will; he is a carpenter from Locksley,” Marian elucidated. “He had an arrow wound in his forearm, but it is not serious; not like your wounds from Isabella’s arrows and like the king’s wound from Vaisey’s arrow.” She paused as a sense of disquietude crept over her.

Marian felt her heart clench painfully in her chest as she remembered that once she had tended to Robin’s wound in Clun several weeks after his return from the Crusade; at that moment, she had seen the ugly scar on Robin’s left side – the scar from Guy’s blade. Robin had tried to charm his way back into her good graces, while she had resisted with all her might, inwardly grunting from exertion and at the same time, feeling that her heart was melting. His words _“Kiss it better”_ echoed through Marian’s mind, and for a moment, they were the only sound audible in the world. These simple words shaped themselves in deep anguish within her breast, and tears glistened on Marian’s lashes.

Marian didn’t hear Guy say, “Well, at least this young man is alive.”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and released a heavy sigh. Memories of Robin and herself were assaulting her, poignant, and silent, and heartbreaking, like the terrible questioning of her conscience. “Not everyone is alive,” she said half-audibly.

A heavy silence pressed upon them like a stone weight. The pause was discomfiting, and to put an end to it, Guy uttered, “I know.”

“I cannot accept Robin’s death.” Marian stared into emptiness; she was battered, hopeless, and tormented, as if she were at the bottom of an abyss of unrest. Her slender features seemed pinched, and her pallor was unhealthy to the point of being unnatural. She glanced back at Guy with vacant eyes that didn’t really see him, and whispered, “My only consolation is that it was not you who… murdered Robin.”

Despite not liking her statement, he asked in an oddly humble voice, “And if I took Robin’s life, you would have never forgiven me?”

Marian swallowed a sob that caught in her throat, and she shut her eyes to stop the flow of tears which she was almost certain were about to leak. Guy’s words brought back the sounds, the visions, the tribulations of the day when Robin had died. Robin’s name sounded in her ears in melancholic bursts of sound, with a cry of pain – Robin’s cry as he had removed his own scimitar from his abdomen. A fresh wave of pain and sorrow drowned her in an oily and tempestuous sea of grief.

She wanted him to know the truth. When she spoke, her face had a tragic and fierce aspect of deep-seated sorrow and of immeasurable pain. “I would have never forgiven you for the death of King Richard or Robin. Thank be to God that you stopped in time.” She sighed, collecting her thoughts. “But you are indirectly guilty of Robin’s… death.”

Guy nodded, comprehending what she meant; he didn’t object because she was right. Intense sensations of shame, unworthiness, and remorse assaulted his senses at once.

Suddenly, Marian and Guy heard the long, immensely sad notes of a familiar song.

_A solis ortu usque ad occidua_

_littora maris planctus pulsat pectora._

_Heu mihi misero!_

Marian found herself on the verge of a breakdown. “ _From the rising of the sun to the sea-shores where it sets, lamentation beats upon the hearts of men. Alas for me in my misery_ ,” she translated from Latin, her voice quavering. Tears filled her eyes, and her heart lodged in her throat as she formed the words she had to say next. “It is a song about our mourning.”

A baffled Guy raised a brow. “What is this? Who is playing?”

“They have been playing this song since… the regicide in Imuiz,” she whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks. “It is Lament on the Death of Charlemagne. Blonde de Nesle is singing this poem because King Richard asked to do that in Robin’s honor.”

" _The Planctus Karoli_ ," Guy murmured in Latin. “They compare… Robin Hood's death to Charlemagne's passing… at King Richard's order."

 “They are singing this because everyone is grieving. These verses are… so tragic.”

“Indeed, tragic,” Guy said in a half-whisper; he then shut his eyes for a split second.

_Ultra marina agmina tristitia_

_tetigit ingens cum merore nimio._

_Heu mihi misero!_

“ _Beyond the ocean-reaches men have been touched by immense sadness and extreme sorrow. Alas for me in my misery!_ ” This time, the new verse was translated from Latin by Guy. A flood of pain mingled with shame flowed through him like a torrent of a mighty river, cascading into a waterfall of heartbreak.

They listened to more than fifteen verses of the lament before the last one sounded.

_In sancta sede cum tuis apostolis_

_suscipe pium, o tu Christe, Robin Hood!_

_Heu mihi misero!_

“ _O Christ, receive into your holy dwelling among your apostles Robin Hood! Alas for me in my misery!_ ” As the last verse was over, Marian dissolved into tears.

Guy didn’t know what to say as every word spoken about Robin brought a sudden, overwhelming flood of pain to their hearts. And so he remained silent, absorbed in his thoughts; his eyes were full of pain, but his face was bewildered, startled, and suffering as his mind was wandering from King Richard to Sheriff Vaisey.

Since Robin’s tragic death in Imuiz, Guy often thought about the King of England. He had never seen the man in the daylight, for their first meeting had happened more than two years ago in Acre, when Guy had almost murdered Richard in his tent. After the failed regicide attempt in Imuiz, the king suddenly became a man in flesh and blood; he no longer was the absent king who had abandoned his country to fight a foreign war he couldn’t win. Guy had seen the king and heard Richard talk to his beloved Robin about his pardon, but Richard hadn’t said a single word to Guy in those moments. Now King Richard was the very man who could execute or spare Guy.

Robin had begged the king to pardon Guy, and the man in black leather was taken aback by his enemy’s inexplicable generosity. Guy remembered Robin’s words that Richard was his brother, which shocked him to the core, as if life had been taken away from him. Guy knew about Ghislane’s scandalous affair with King Henry, but he had thought that he was Roger’s son. To him, the words about his mystical blood connection with Richard were the quintessence of the drama in the courtyard when Vaisey had been trying to blackmail Robin and Guy into killing the king. Moreover, Robin had also claimed that Guy hadn’t known the whole story, which came to Guy as another shock.

As he had watched the conversation between Robin Hood and King Richard, Guy had admitted to himself, bitterly, that he had envied Robin and Richard. Richard loved and respected Robin a great deal, although they apparently had important disagreements about the Third Crusade. Guy was stunned that Robin had voiced his disagreement with the holy war in the land of Christ in the king’s presence, which could be interpreted as an act of treason. Why did Richard permit Robin to speak such things freely?

At present, Guy could see things in a new light. He admitted to himself, reluctantly, that he had misjudged Robin. He had said many bad and untrue things about his worst enemy. But, he had hated Robin with all his heart back then, and his mission had been to re-take all that Robin loved in his all-too-common quest for vengeance. Marian was correct that his hatred for Robin had blinded him and made him forget the two most important things in the world – love and compassion.

Robin had pledged his unconditional loyalty to King Richard, and he had always resented Hood for being a blind royalist, ignoring the Lionheart’s obvious faults. But on the day of Robin’s death, Guy had received evidence to the contrary: Robin had mentioned that he hadn’t fought against the Saracens for God, but rather for the king. That meant that Robin openly proclaimed his dissent with the pope’s opinion of the so-called infidels and all Crusades, and, hence, questioned Richard’s decision to fight in the Holy Land. Yet, Guy remembered that Robin had always defended the king; only now he realized that Robin had never allowed anyone to criticize Richard not only because of his fanatical loyalty to the king but also because of Robin’s close relationship with Richard.

Guy was impressed and amazed to see how deep the mutual affection between King Richard and Robin was running. The king and his captain were like two old friends and cared deeply about each other. There was not even a shadow of a doubt in Guy’s mind that there was nothing physical in their relationship, and he didn’t believe rumors about Richard bedding his favorites. Nevertheless, he had seen something else between the king and his most loyal subject; something beyond affection, respect, or friendship.

It occurred to Guy that Robin’s close relationship with King Richard was similar to Guy’s relationship with Vaisey in many aspects. They knew each other for a long time, since early youth; the king and the sheriff both mentored Robin and Guy, though in very different ways. Robin’s relationship with Richard represented all positive that Guy never had in his twisted arrangement with Vaisey. Richard respected and relied upon Robin, which seemed really incredible to Guy. Vaisey always reminded Guy of his failures and didn’t bother to learn Guy’s opinion at all, ordering him to carry out his commands.

Richard and Robin were close friends; Guy was tied to his evil master by the pitiless hand of fate. Richard deeply loved and adored Robin; Vaisey continuously humiliated and insulted Guy. The king gave Robin real power by appointing him captain of the private guard and constantly seeking his advice; Vaisey kept Guy as a henchman whose sharp sword destroyed many innocents ruthlessly and mechanically. Robin was a loyal subject who obeyed his liege and also had a considerable influence on the king; Guy had no real power at all and was just Vaisey’s obedient and rightless dog.

Guy chuckled at the thought that he thought of King Richard in a positive light. He believed that if he had been treated like the Lionheart had treated Robin, he would have served to the king with fierce passion and great pleasure. Now Guy understood why Robin’s loyalty to Richard was unconditional: the monarch was utterly devoted to his grand favorite, and Robin fully reciprocated the king’s deep affection.

The king utterly despised Guy, his would-be assassin who had tried to kill him twice. Richard was a man of war who fought many battles and won most of them; he was a vengeful man who could avenge deaths of his loved ones through committing acts of unequaled cruelty. Given the king’s love for Robin, Guy didn’t think that the lion would pardon him in spite of Robin’s deathbed plea, and he was resigned to his possible fate. Yet, Guy began to realize that Richard Plantagenet had many facets to his personality, which won for him staunch friends and equally dangerous adversaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robin dies a hero’s death in Acre, having sacrificed himself for the king. It was difficult to write Robin’s deathbed scene, for he had a dramatic conversation with King Richard, Marian, Guy, and his friends. There is the long-awaited deathbed reconciliation between Guy and Robin, when Robin begs the king to pardon Guy and reveal to him all the secrets of the past. I think it was a tragic chapter, wasn’t it? What do you think about the plotline? Everyone can start guessing what happened to Robin: I can only say that I left clues which help readers understand whether he is really dead or not.
> 
> I used to think that Marian’s deathbed scene is suspicious and long, but it seems that I was wrong. I consulted with a doctor when I wrote the tragic scene of Robin’s death, and I was told that there are some severe abdominal wounds when a patient may survive for quite some time while enduring the agony, until a weapon is taken out of his/her stomach; there are even cases when a weapon can be removed from abdomen only by surgeons. Therefore, Robin in this story/novel and Marian in the show could live until the sword is removed from their stomachs.
> 
> Archer has his own role in the regicide attempt in Acre. Maybe you already have some thoughts about what role he can play in Robin’s life in later chapter.
> 
> The Planctus (de obitu) Karoli (Lament on the Death of Charlemagne") is an anonymous medieval song in Latin. It is a mourning lament written by a Christian monk shortly after Charlemagne’s death. The authorship of the lament has been a matter of some dispute.
> 
> In this chapter, we began to resolve the Robin/Marian/Guy love triangle, and there will be more about them in later chapters. In the next chapter, Guy meets with King Richard, and the resolution of the Robin/King Richard/Guy triangle finally happens.


	9. Mysteries Unveiled

**Chapter 9**

**Mysteries Unveiled**

The sunset was flushing delicate flesh colors above the port of Acre when Roger de Tosny woke up Guy and Marian and accompanied them to King Richard’s chambers. They left the guest quarters and passed through a long corridor, then descended the stairs and walked through another corridor. A profusion of flickering torches illuminated the corridors, and in the light from them, the stone floor and walls seemed to merge into the gray crepuscular background of the palace.

Finally, they entered a large spacious room, the king’s presence chamber. The decorations of the room were devoted to the capture of Jerusalem during the First Crusade. A large tapestry depicting the fall of Jerusalem to the Crusaders in 1099 hung on the far wall. Various scenes from the siege of Jerusalem ran around the edges of the tapestries, framing a larger image that portrayed the Crusaders breaking through the walls and overrunning the holy city.

Marian, Guy, and Roger stood in the corner of the chamber, lost in thoughts. Suddenly, Much appeared at the doorway; an hour ago, he had been invited to the king for a private audience. Much was grief-stricken, his eyes red and swollen as though he had been weeping for hours. As he spotted Marian and Guy in the room, Much directed at them a cold, contemptuous glare, muttering something to himself.

“Much, are you alright?” Marian asked with concern.

Much stared at Marian scornfully. “Are you really interested, Lady Marian?”

Marian was quiet for a while, and then responded, "I understand that you are distressed, Much.” She wanted to avoid any argument with Robin’s best friend as Much’s mind was obviously clouded by grief.

“I am more than distressed – I am dead inside,” Much answered in a trembling voice. "The light of the world is gone because… Robin is dead.”

Much was absolutely heartbroken. Every time he envisaged the scene of Robin’s demise in Imuiz, waves of monstrous pain passed through his heart. He blamed himself for his failure to save Robin from Vaisey. He would have given up everything and everyone’s life to let Robin live because Robin was everything that Much loved and worshiped in his life. Much was loyal more to Robin than to the king and England. It didn't matter that Robin's callous attitude often hurt him, for he was ready to overlook that, and he always forgave Robin. He didn't know how he to live without Robin.

Guy tried not to pay attention to the distraught man’s mutterings; the audience with the king was not something he was looking forward to as well. The stuffy air and Much’s presence in the room didn’t make the prospect of waiting more appealing.

Marian cast a nervous glance at Much, and her gaze fell on what the man was holding in his hands. Her expression evolved into wistfulness. “Much, are these things Robin’s bow and scimitar?” She felt tears trembling on her eyelashes, and blinked them away.

Much swallowed his sobs. “Robin’s bow is Saladin’s gift. Several years ago, when King Richard tried to make peace with Saladin by arranging Princess Joan’s marriage to Prince Saphadin, the Saracen messenger brought gifts for our king; among them was Robin’s bow.” He pressed Robin’s bow to his heart as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “And Robin’s scimitar is still stained with his own dried blood…” He stared at Marian, his eyes shimmering with a flood of tears. “Robin took his scimitar from the first Saracen whom he killed in the Holy Land, in our first battle.”

Against her will, Marian’s eyes filled with tears. “How did you get them?”

“King Richard summoned me and gave me these things,” Much enlightened. “He thinks I deserve to have Robin’s bow and… his scimitar as tokens of Robin’s memory.”

Marian gave a watery chuckle. “The king is right, Much. You should have these things.”

A short gloomy silence ensued, and then Much broke it. “Robin kept this scimitar as a reminder of his first killing in the Holy Land.” He sighed deeply. “At times, Robin felt that he would die here. But fate is so cruel… that he was killed with his own scimitar.”

“Much, the sheriff will pay for his crimes,” de Tosny said to appease Much.

“The king may kill every Black Knights, but nothing will return Robin to us. Robin is dead, and we even don’t have his body that was lost in the desert,” Much lamented.

“I hope they will find… Robin, and we will bury him,” Marian murmured, her eyes shimmering with tears.

“I cannot believe that Robin is dead,” Much said in a shaking voice. “I have been with Robin for so many years that I cannot imagine how I will never be part of his life again.”

“Much, I have always admired your devotion and loyalty to Robin,” Roger de Tosny spoke in a voice tight with emotion. “I think that you were more than a former master and his servant, even during your first five years in the Holy Land. You were more than close friends and more than comrades.”

Much dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Robin was the most important person in my life. He was everything I loved and love. Very few people can understand how special Robin is… was… for me. It is not only about our childhood friendship – it is about friendship, love, understanding, and survival together.”

“How did you meet Robin, if I may ask, Lord Much?” Guy addressed the former manservant in a formal way, like Much himself requested. He disliked Much, considering him annoying and irritating, but he admired Much’s loyalty to Robin. He had never seen such a loyal and devoted servant.

Much veered his gaze to Guy, his gaze revealing the hatred he felt for the other man. “Why are you interested, you traitor?”

Guy parried calmly, “If you don’t want to talk, I don’t mind.”

“Gisborne, you are a bloody traitor. You deserve to die a slow and painful death,” Much hissed between gritted teeth; his eyes grew hard as he squared his shoulders. “I hate and despise you, Gisborne.”

Guy nodded. “I accept that. It is your deal.”

“Much, please don’t say that,” Marian implored, looking exasperated; her gaze flew to Guy. “Guy, I will answer your question. Much was taken to Locksley from one of the nearby villages years ago. If I am not mistaken, Sir Malcolm of Locksley, may his soul rest in peace, chose Much to be a personal servant for Robin, his only son and heir.”

Much looked at Guy, narrowing his eyes. “Do you know, Gisborne, when I appeared at Locksley Manor?” His features hardened. “I was born in the family of millers from Clun; my parents and brothers died from the plague, and I became an orphan. Sir Malcolm, God bless his soul, found me in Nottingham in a street and took me to Locksley several months before the fire that killed him.” His eyes pierced Guy’s like needles. “Initially, Sir Malcolm didn’t plan to make me Robin’s manservant. He offered me a roof and food without payment until he could find someone to take care of me, but I couldn’t agree. It was my initiative to become a servant because I wanted to stay in Locksley with Robin.”

“Oh!” Marian gasped in amazement; she didn’t know these things about Much’s past.

A shudder went through a startled Guy: Much seemed to have been aware of the bad blood between Guy and Robin. “Well, your loyalty is understandable, Lord Much.”

Roger de Tosny gave Much a compassionate look. “It is a tragic story, Much. It seems that you and Robin became orphans almost at the same time.”

“You are right, Roger,” Much said flatly. “After Sir Malcolm’s death, Robin was lonely, and I was alone in the world too. Robin and I found consolation and companionship in one another.” His voice rose an octave. “Robin and I survived through the grief of losing Sir Malcolm. We grew up together; of course with Lady Marian as well. We together survived through many horrors and bloodshed in the Holy Land. We lived in Sherwood and fought for the poor together. We helped and saved each other."

De Tosny inferred, “You are more than friends, Much: you are like brothers.”

“Robin was more than a friend and a brother,” Much said sincerely. His face was an epitome of sheer hatred as his eyes landed on Guy. “Not Robin, but this man – Guy of Gisborne – must be dead.” He pointed an angry finger at Guy. “If the sheriff and you, Gisborne, hadn’t spun a story about our treason, we wouldn’t have been detained that day, and Robin wouldn’t have allowed the king to go unprotected into the desert.”

“Much, please be tolerant towards Guy. You–” Marian ventured to stop the escalating argument, but Much interrupted her.

A furious Much glanced at Marian, his gaze hard and unforgiving. "Why should I endure his presence, my lady? Gisborne almost killed Robin in Acre two and a half years ago when he stabbed Robin from the back! Gisborne murdered hundreds of innocents! He terrorized the peasants of Nottingham and Locksley for many years! He came here to kill the king and was somehow persuaded by Robin to stop!”

“Guy didn’t want to kill the king! He dropped his sword!” Marian shot back.

Nothing could abate Much’s righteous anger. “Lady Marian, aren’t you mourning for Robin? Or are you as indifferent to him as you were when you broke his heart?”

“Much, we are not alone,” Marian pointed out, ashamed of admitting that Much was right. She had indeed broken Robin’s heart when she had married Guy. After the realization of her real feelings, in the courtyard when she had been saying her farewell words to Robin, she submerged into misery, and, sorrow and guilt all the way; every tie of connection to the old happy life was severed.

Roger de Tosny interposed, "What's going on with you, Much? Where are your manners?"

“Roger, I am saying the truth!” Much narrowed his eyes, his face red with anger; his tears dried. "This man is alive while Robin is dead! His crimes merited his death! He should have died instead of Robin!"

Guy felt both embarrassed and angry, struggling to keep his emotions at bay. “You speak the truth. I killed many people at Vaisey’s order.”

“Much, please don’t say these things about Guy!” Marian entreated. “I know that you are beyond any grief… after Robin’s death. But you are not the only one who is suffering! Guy didn’t kill the king and didn’t even try this time! He didn’t stab Robin, and he himself was wounded by his own sister!”

“I don’t care! I am not going to talk about Gisborne with the lady who betrayed Robin and all of us!” Much blustered. “The fact is that Gisborne is alive and our beloved Robin is dead! I don’t know why Gisborne is still alive – he must be executed for his crimes! I saw what atrocities he can do to innocents, even to children! He is a monster!”

Guy felt his knees trembling; sweat prickled at his hairline and condensed between his shoulder blades. During his service to Vaisey, he didn’t kill even one child, and his unwillingness to kill children earned him many taunting remarks from the sheriff. On the contrary, he tried to spare children, including the case when Vaisey had planned to lure Robin out of the forest by threatening to have villagers hanged, drawn, and quartered but then had them pardoned at Guy’s insistence. Guy knew that Hood’s former manservant was mad with grief, but he didn’t expect such harsh accusations.

In a voice layered with both pain and guilt, Marian supplied, “Thank you at least for being honest with me, Much.”

“I am sorry,” Much whispered. “But you know why I am saying that.”

“I agree with you,” Marian said gently, lowering her gaze.

“Gisborne will never atone,” Much declared angrily. “Many terrible things followed Sir Malcolm’s death because of Gisborne.”

Marian wondered what Much knew about Guy and Robin’s childhood. “Much, I don’t think that we should talk about that right now.”

Guy had the steely resolve to talk to Much. “Marian, I don’t mind. Timing is not perfect, but I don’t care.” He shifted his gaze from Marian to Much. “Lord Much, you want to say something more about me, but you are hesitating?”

“Gisborne, you started murdering people in your early youth,” Much blurted out, his expression hateful. “Your father was a leper, but he came to Locksley after his banishment. You, Gisborne, killed Sir Malcolm and your own parents.”

“Ah!” Guy gave an exclamation of surprise; he feigned calmness. “So you know everything.”

Much pursed his lips. “I have always known about the bad blood between Robin and you, Gisborne. I was three years older than Robin, and I remember some things about the day of the fire better than Robin did,” he enlightened. “I understood who you are when we met you in Locksley after our return from the Crusade. Robin and I both knew that you had returned to settle scores with Robin.”

“Much, please stop,” Marian beseeched.

“You think I have to stop, don't you?” Much shouted wrathfully. “And why should I?” He pointed at Guy. “Gisborne is a murderer of his own parents! He killed Sir Malcolm! He brought so much misery into the world and Robin’s life!” His voice rose to a crescendo as he added, “Robin became a rich earl after Sir Malcolm’s death, and many people envied him. One of them was Bailiff Longthorn, who tried to murder Robin, wishing to get rid of the only surviving man in the Huntingdon family.”

De Tosny was shaking his head in disapproval, but he didn’t intervene. He decided that he would stop them only if their heated verbal argument turned into violence.

“Much, we know about the assassination attempts on Robin’s life. Please–” Marian was interrupted.

His voice like a whiplash, Much snapped, “You know the official story, Lady Marian.” He trailed off, his eyes darkening a shade in his apparent distress. “But you don’t know what much Robin suffered. I was always with him, tending to his injuries after every failed attempt on his life.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “I wasn’t admitted to Robin only on the day when someone, together with Sir Edward, delivered him to Locksley after three months of captivity; he was very sick after he had been released.”

“What happened that day?” Guy asked impatiently; that thought was gnawing at him since the day of Thornton and Bridget’s murder.

Much rubbed his chin in thought. “It was a strange day.” He turned to Marian. “Your father, my lady, didn’t allow me to go upstairs to Robin. He assured me that Robin would be fine and ordered to pack my things and prepare to go to Huntingdon.” 

Marian looked confused. “But who took care of Robin if he was so sick?”

“A doctor and someone who was upstairs, in Robin’s bedroom,” Much answered. “I know nothing else. We departed to Huntingdon in two days, where I spent with Robin several months during his convalescence. I did all that I could to help him and ease his pain.” Deeply sorrow painted itself over his countenance. “He needed my help so much when his broken bones and bruises were healing.”

“Why was everything kept a secret for so long, Much?” Marian inquired, puzzled as to her father’s involvement into the mystery.

“Sir Edward said that everything must be kept a secret,” Much explained. “Thornton and Sir Edward took care of everything. I didn’t utter a word because I was commanded not to speak by Sir Edward and later by Robin himself.”

Guy scoffed. “But why are you revealing this story now, Lord Much?”

Much’s eyes glittered with a blend of contempt, disgust, and hatred. “Robin and Sir Edward are dead.” He drew a deep breath; then he went on. “After Sir Malcolm’s death, Robin was young and parentless; he became a victim of Bailiff Longthorn. If Sir Malcolm had been alive, he would have defended Robin.”

“It would have been very chivalrous of Sir Malcolm,” Guy mocked as he stepped closer to Marian and leaned against the wall with tapestries.

“Guy, show respect to the dead,” Marian reprimanded.

Much narrowed his eyes to slits and clenched his teeth as he hissed, “Gisborne, it is so low of you to mock Sir Malcolm, a victim of your cruelty! You killed Sir Malcolm!” He, “You tried to kill Robin, but you failed! In the end, your evil nature caused the greatest tragedy – Robin’s death.” He trailed off, and something savage and primitive flared in those hateful eyes – something more horrible than hatred. “Gisborne, you are cursed. You bring only death. Your evil spirit caused only deaths to the Huntingdons.”

“Much, you are a fool! Shut up!” Marian flung back between gritted teeth.

“Much, stop right now!” Roger de Tosny stepped forward. “Or I will make you leave.”

In spite of the anger that seized his heart, Guy suddenly felt guilty. In a quiet voice colored with an odd calmness, he requested, “Don’t interfere.” He looked at Much. “I agree that I wronged Robin, but Robin brought misery into my life too.” His face was a grimace of pain. “Believe me, Lord Much, I paid a high price for all my mistakes.”

“Not enough,” Much spat, his eyes full of malice. “Robin is dead, and you are alive.”

Guy turned his gaze to the window and looked out; the hard rim of the sun was rising above the blue sea. He whispered, “At times, death is better.”

Marian was gazing in silence into Guy’s pale face, watching the shifting emotions that were so clearly written on his features. She saw how deeply he was affected by Much’s accusations. The blood drained from her face at the thought that they had to wait for the king’s audience for so long, and she wished someone would come to diffuse the tension. Just then, Djaq entered the chamber from the corridor.

“I think all of you should calm down,” Djaq began in a dispassionate voice. “It is a difficult time for everyone. Your arguments only create tension.”

“Very true,” de Tosny agreed with a smile.

Guy sighed. Marian glanced away, shaking with helpless anger. De Tosny nodded.

“How does King Richard feel?” Much asked anxiously. “He will survive, won’t he?”

“It takes the king more time to recover than we anticipated,” Djaq reported. “He will need several more weeks to regain his strength, but his life is no longer in danger.”

A collective breath of immense relief moved through the room; even Guy was awash in relief, for he didn’t want Richard to die for some odd reason.

“How is Carter doing?” Much questioned.

“Carter is fighting to survive,” Djaq informed. “He is a strong man, but his wound is nearly grave. Even if he survives fever and infection, he will need at least three months, if not more, to recuperate.”

All at once, Lady Melisende Plantagenet, followed by her three ladies-in-waiting, appeared in the presence chamber. She paused and smiled at Djaq, then thanked her; she also nodded at de Tosny, signaling that she was ready. As if in a well-choreographed dance, her ladies together curtsied to everyone. Then Melisende waved a dismissing hand at her ladies and alone dramatically swept out of the room.

In the next moment, the door flung open, and the king’s page entered. He announced that only Guy and Marian were allowed to go to the king. Marian and Guy shared anxious glances, while the others stared at them in astonishment. For a split second, Much looked angry, but then his face evolved into bewilderment mingled with resentment. Much swiveled and stormed out, and so did Djaq.

Roger de Tosny opened the door, letting Guy and Marian go ahead, reminding with his eyes and his quiet demeanor of his advice to be cautious with the Lionheart. Guy nodded in gratitude at the friend of his youth for moral support; he felt that he was hated by everyone, and Roger’s presence and tolerance meant a lot for him. De Tosny led Guy and Marian through the corridor where a dozen men stood on guard. They mounted reached the steep staircase, and were lost in the maze of corridors. Finally, they stopped near the heavy door, and Roger pushed it open; then they stepped into the dimly illuminated hallway.

“Where are we now?” Guy was stunned that they didn’t come to the official royal reception room or the presence chamber where all monarchs usually accepted visitors.

“It is the king’s private chamber,” de Tosny replied. “King Richard feels unwell.”

“That’s why he is accepting us here?” Marian assumed.

“Yes,” Roger confirmed.

She heaved a sigh. “I see.”

“The king is waiting for you,” de Tosny informed. “The door is unlocked. Go inside.”

Her heart palpitating with fear, Marian gave Guy an uneasy glance; Guy managed a tight smile. He stepped forward and pulled the door open, allowing Marian to go ahead and following her. Guy then entered the chamber, ready to face his fate whatever it was – his execution or his pardon.

§§§

The king’s private chamber glowed in the yellow candlelight from several torches that hung on the opposite walls. The chamber had whitewashed walls which were tastefully decorated with rich tapestries in shades of crimson and rose. The room could be called the bloody room, for even the carpet on the floor was in hues of rose and crimson. It was a richly furnished room with a walnut table in the corner, several comfortable high-back armchairs covered with crimson brocade and placed near the hearth, and, along one of the walls, a line of high-back chairs upholstered with crimson brocade.

“My liege,” Marian began as she sank into a gracious curtsey. “Lady Melisende,” she added.

Marian discreetly arranged the skirts of her low-cut black and gray, somber gown with charming bell-shaped sleeves that ended at the elbow. Like everyone else, Marian wore dark colors. The gown was more sophisticated and fashionable than gowns she usually wore in England. She had nothing to wear after Vaisey had escaped from Acre with her things; one of Melisende’s ladies-in-waiting gave her several new gowns. Her hair was arranged in a simple bun on the nape of her head.

Guy bowed with respect, silent and solemn. He took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself not to dwell on the fears and uncertainty which were gnawing at him.

They were not dismissed from a curtsey and a bow for quite some time.

“Rise and take a seat there,” King Richard said after a long pause in Norman-French, pointing at a pair of armchairs in the opposite side of the chamber.

Marian rose from her curtsey and walked away on her husband's arm. She sat down and smoothed her skirts; Guy eased himself into a nearby chair.

The King of England stood near the table, staring at his guests with a scrupulous gaze, his face unreadable. King Richard was in deep mourning, like everyone in Acre; he wore a black silk tunic instead of his Crusader garb. He looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks, his stature not as majestic as before the regicide attempt, and he was slimmer too. The fever that had ravaged his body during the past ten days had taken its toll on him; his right arm was still bandaged.

Melisende looked magnificent in her violet velvet gown, with jewel-encrusted high collar and V-shaped neckline, a stunning necklace of rose gold and pink diamonds adorning her neck. Her violet gown matched the color of her eyes, stressing her voluptuous form as she regally sat in a high-back armchair, her red-gold hair gleaming in the torchlight. She was the only woman who wore colorful dresses of the color violet, for Robin once told her that purple and violet suited her and that if he died, he wished her to wear clothes matching the color of her eyes while being in mourning.

Melisende’s presence puzzled both Guy and Marian who wondered why the king had requested that she attend the private audience with Guy. There was an enigma in the manner the king was dealing with Guy’s case. Something had gone terribly wrong, or they didn’t know something important.

King Richard briefly looked between Marian and Guy. He then walked over to two armchairs, his movements tired and yet full of power. He seated himself in an armchair, next to where Melisende, and then stretched his long legs in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and pushed his fingers through his hair.

“I trust you are doing well, Lady Marian and Sir Guy,” Melisende uttered courteously. She felt strangely close to Marian despite being aware of Robin’s relationship with the other woman; they both lost the man they loved, and it united them in their grief. Yet, she didn’t wish to be in the same room with Guy, knowing that he had attempted regicide twice; she loathed Guy for what he did to Robin in Acre and in Nottingham.

“We are doing fine. Thank you for your hospitality and care.” Guy forced a smile, feeling like an outsider in the company of King Richard and the king’s cousin.

Marian nodded slowly. “Thank you. Everything has been to our liking so far.”

Richard waved his head, signaling that the words of gratitude were not necessary.

“Good,” Melisende said dryly; she then averted her gaze, staring into the flames.

Amid the harsh glow of the flickering torches, Lady Melisende Plantagenet looked unearthly melancholic and fatally regal. Marian eyed Melisende, thinking that Robin’s wife was an unusual lady. Melisende’s beautiful appearance and the richness of her inner world were obvious and undeniable, but there was something in Melisende that made Marian adore the woman and simultaneously cringe in her presence.

“Lady Marian, I owe you a huge debt of gratitude,” the king began, assessing her critically. “If not for you, I could have been killed.” A look of grief appeared on his face before his expression regained its blankness. “Robin and you saved my life.”

The king’s personal manner of speaking caused Marian and Guy to startle.

“My liege, I am delighted to see you in good health and, I hope, in a little better spirits,” Marian replied politely. “I did nothing to save you. You owe me nothing.”

The king let out a smile at her sincere statement. “Lady Marian, you came to the courtyard in Imuiz when I lay there wounded and couldn’t defend myself. If you hadn’t distracted Sir Guy of Gisborne from killing me until Robin came, I could have been dead.” His eyes flew to Guy. “At first, Sir Guy looked rather determined to kill me, even though later he said that he didn’t want to do that.”

Guy lowered his eyes and stared down at the red carpet, embarrassed and simultaneously frightened.

Marian inclined her head. “Sire, I only did what I had to do as your loyal subject.” She emitted a heavy sigh of grief. “Robin and that man, Archer, saved your life.”

The king arched a brow. “Archer?”

“Yes, milord,” Marian confirmed. “Archer was Prince John’s hired assassin, but he switched sides and helped your men in the battle of Imuiz.”

“Very interesting,” the king drawled as he reminisced about his mother’s letter, in which she had warned him about the danger from Robin’s secret half-brother, Archer. “He disappeared in Imuiz. If he feared that I would arrest and execute him, he was mistaken.”

“I am sorry, but we have no idea what happened to him,” Marian said truthfully.

Richard let out a smile that was quickly replaced by a serious expression. “No need to apologize. I believe you.” He contemplated her for a moment, in silence breached only by the hissing of the torches. “Anyway, Lady Marian, you played a huge role in my salvation. You were brave and desperate to save my life.”

Marian smiled, flattered by the king’s warm compliments. “I am not used to hearing such high praises.”

“It is a compliment, Lady Marian. I am really impressed.” Richard’s lips were quirking in a smile, but his face quickly turned serious, for his mood was very grim.

“Thank you for your praise and kindness, sire,” Marian spelled out humbly.

Richard gestured towards a heap of parchments on the table. “Lady Marian, you will be well rewarded for your services; I have already prepared all the official documents for you. Of course, you must inherit the village of Knighton as Sir Edward’s only surviving heir. You will also receive a substantial amount of money to compensate you for the destruction of Knighton Hall. I was informed that your manor was burned by Gisborne in a fit of rage.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I will also transfer on your name more lands in Nottinghamshire, which previously belonged to my two loyal soldiers who died without heirs.”

Guy looked away; he bit his tongue not to scream in rage as the king had reminded him of what he desperately wanted to forget. It was Hood who had told the Lionheart about the destruction of Knighton, and Guy was again amazed how close Robin was to the lion. He was overwhelmed with shame for his background and his deeds, hoping that the king would change the subject.

The heat rose to Marian’s cheeks. “Thank you, milord; you are very generous. I would have never requested that from you. I am content with what I have.”

Richard pointed out, “Lady Marian, I insist that you must be rewarded. It is my right to reward my loyal subjects and punish those who commit treason against their king.”

“Oh,” Guy breathed inaudibly. Taking a deep breath, he was struggling to pretend that he wasn’t affected by the king’s subtle hints on his actions.

“Of course, sire.” Marian bent her head to hide the flush on her cheeks.

Richard studied Marian closely; he sympathized with her despite the fact that he condemned her for her marriage to Gisborne and for breaking Robin’s heart. “Lady Marian, you shouldn’t blame yourself for… Robin’s death,” he supplied. “Even if you hadn’t tried to persuade him to not kill the sheriff, Robin would have tried to capture him alive and detain him. Robin hesitated, thinking that Vaisey deserved a pompous public execution, bloody and humiliating.”

Marian pulled her gaze from the floor to the lion; she was amazed how shrewd and attentive the king was. “Robin told me the same.”

The king directed at Marian a hard glare. “Yet, Lady Marian, you should learn to hold your tongue back when you are not permitted to speak. Some things are out of women’s business, like military decisions, when a knight decides whom and how to kill.”

Marian viewed the monarch’s words as an infringement on her independence, and she was overtaken by a wave of rage, at his arrogance, his selfishness, his staunch belief in the dominance of men in the world. She always got furious when her father and even Robin had told her that she must have never done or tried to do certain things that were not traditionally in women's scope of work. She was irritated that Guy had placed her on a pedestal and then was shocked that her real personality turned out to be far from the perfect image he had created in his mind. Marian was a woman in a man's world and had no choice in many aspects, but she had a mind untrammeled by convention and refused to be an extension of men.

Marian disagreed politely, “My liege, I beg your pardon if our opinions don’t concur, but I believe I can handle myself well. I know that I am not always acting cautiously and may be… reckless, but I assure you that I never mean to cause any harm to anyone.”

The king dipped his head in acknowledgment, remembering Robin’s tales about their adventures in Sherwood. “Lady Marian, even if you mean no harm, your recklessness in words and actions may render other people in a state of confusion and puzzlement.”

“I know, sire.” Marian blamed herself for her attempts to dissuade Robin from killing Vaisey. Her frustration – with herself and the situation in general – intensified.

The king nodded, his eyes bore into Marian’s, his gaze softening. “In the situation with Robin, your pleas not to kill Sheriff Vaisey made almost no difference because I know that Robin would have hesitated anyway. After all, Robin and I discussed Vaisey’s punishment and decided that it would be better to execute the sheriff publicly.” He paused for a moment as if to remember something. “The most dramatic music comes not from an artist’s mind but from an artist’s heart.” His voice turned low and plaintive. “Robin let his heart rule his decisions, which resulted in his demise. In the courtyard, there was a clash of his humanity in the form of his hesitation to kill and his vanity in the form of his desire to have a grand execution for a former grand executioner.”

“I don’t know, my liege.” Marian didn’t know whether his words were a balm to her heart. 

“I understand, Lady Marian,” Richard retorted in a high voice. “I witnessed the whole scene. I know perfectly well what Robin was thinking at that moment.” He removed one of his rings from his finger and put it on a nearby table. “Robin masterfully controlled his emotions in critical situations, which made him a brilliant leader and a great military commander and allowed him to win many battles. Yet, if vanity or humanity vied in his heart, his control could slip, and Robin could lose himself in an ocean of drama.”

“Thank you, my liege,” Marian said gratefully, somewhat relieved.

The king tore his gaze from Melisende’s face and fixed it at Guy. “I believe we have forgotten about your rather delicate situation, Sir Guy.”

Guy shuddered at Richard’s icy glare sent chills up his spine. “I am at your disposal, my liege.” He managed a weak smile in spite of the fear that gripped his entire being.

Richard stared impassively into Guy’s eyes for the space of a heartbeat, relishing in Guy’s discomfort. “Sir Guy, the last thing you will want to do after our conversation will be to smile and laugh," he declared at last. 

The Lionheart’s eyes were blazing with bitter fury and cold contempt, for he despised Guy. Gisborne was nobody and nothing for him, for he couldn’t respect a man who had tried to kill him twice. Yet, Richard instinctively began to respect Guy for his ability to stay calm despite the knowledge that he could be sentenced to a gruesome death and buried in an unmarked grave in the desert, without having a Christian burial. The lion felt that Guy could become loyal to him if he were pardoned. He would make Guy feel indebted to him, Richard mused, planning to use that to his own advantage.

“Sir Guy Crispin Fitzcorbet of Gisborne, you committed numerous grave crimes against England, your king, and the people of England,” the king proclaimed harshly, in a voice colored with castigation, his eyes narrowed. “By the law and common sense, I will do the right thing if I order your immediate execution.”

A deathly hush fell over the room as everyone considered the lion’s statement.

Guy hung his head. “I understand,” he admitted finally.

“Do you admit your guilt?” the king questioned, a stern expression on his face.

Guy didn’t raise his eyes at his sovereign. “I do.”

Richard sighed heavily. “Gisborne, you organized the Saracen raid two and a half years ago; you tried to kill me but failed. Yet, you grievously wounded Robin; since I learned about your involvement, I have never believed that you did that accidentally.”

“You are right, sire. When I attempted regicide for the first time, I planned to murder you and also thought that I could try to kill Robin of Locksley on the same night if I could quickly find him in the camp,” Guy acknowledged, still looking at the carpet.

The ladies gasped as horror mingled with shock painted itself on their faces, and they heard Guy sigh. Richard stiffened and stared hard at Guy.

“So you knew whom you attacked and wounded from the back?” the king continued the interrogation.

Guy flicked his gaze to his liege at last. “Yes, I did. I accidentally discovered Robin, but I quickly recognized him. I stabbed and hoped that he would die.”

“At least you don’t deny that,” the lion hissed between gritted teeth, glancing away from the man whom he wished to kill on impulse as he envisioned the night of the Saracen attack again. He compelled himself to keep his relative composure; he then veered his gaze to Guy. “You came here plotting regicide again.”

Guy’s features were ghostly pale, like winter snow. “Sire, I have committed heinous crimes in my life. I have killed many people in cold blood since I pledged my loyalty to Lord Peter Vaisey years ago. Many of them were your loyal knights.”

The lion inferred, “Your loyalty was misplaced. How did you meet Vaisey?”

The last vestiges of Guy’s composure faded into tremendous agitation, tightening his mouth. He never liked remembering his youth in Normandy. With great effort, he took his emotions under control and spoke flatly. “Vaisey hired me as his squire in Rouen many years ago; I had served as Sir Roger de Tosny’s squire before meeting Vaisey.” He swallowed hard. “Like all the de Tosny family, Roger has a commercial talent and has been doing prosperous trades for years. In youth, I patterned myself upon him in regard to his business operations, but I don’t have his natural talent. I lost a lot of money; although I never practiced at the card table, I gambled to repay my debt. I thought that nothing could bail me out of financial trouble because I gambled all my money away. Vaisey was my main lender, and he pressured me to work for him after Roger had been seriously injured in a tournament in Rouen. I was forced to enter into serve to Vaisey, and, over time, I was elevated to his right-hand man.” 

“Something else, Sir Guy?” Richard pressed on.

A perplexed Guy unseeingly glanced at the king’s strict face; he had to say everything if he wanted to survive the day. “I killed many of your loyal knights at Vaisey’s order in Normandy, Anjou, Maine, and Aquitaine. When Vaisey was appointed Sheriff of Essex by King Henry, we relocated to England; I was Vaisey’s henchman and carried out his many commands of illegal nature in Essex. When Vaisey became Sheriff of Nottingham, I acted in the same manner in Nottinghamshire.” He paused, biting his lips.

“Go on,” Richard emboldened.

Guy took a deep breath. “About three years ago, the sheriff suggested that I go to the Holy Land and kill you, milord.” He paused, sighing morbidly. When he went on, his voice was not steady. “I agreed and arrived in Acre, but I failed. Now I came here to attempt regicide again, with the only difference that I was blackmailed by Vaisey into attempting regicide to save Marian and my sister, Isabella, although at that time I didn’t know that Isabella was part of Prince John’s plot against you, milord.”

“Are you aware of the treacherous massacre in my camp?” Richard asked.

Guy shook his head. “I knew nothing, sire. Vaisey told me about the massacre only after the deed had been done. He said that the Earl of Buckingham, the Earl of Spenser, the Baron of Rotherham, and the Earl of Durham had gone to Acre and organized the massacre in the king’s camp.“

Richard’s lips thinned in anger, pent-up frustration oozing from his body. “I remember these names from the Pact of Nottingham.”

“Yes, milord.” Guy’s mind was racing as he pondered over what else he could tell the king about the massacre. "Lord Walter Sheridan was against this plan. But Prince John wanted to have you massacred and sent the Black Knights to Acre despite Sheridan's fears that they would fail."

"I know that Sheridan betrayed England and his king,” the monarch snorted. Sheridan's treason was a painful blow to his ego and pride.

"He became the Black Knight after his return to England," Gisborne pointed out.

"That is true," the lion said, sadness creeping into his voice. He then broached another important subject.  “Gisborne, you killed Sir Roger of Stoke whom I held in high regard.” His voice was tinged with anger.

Guy bravely acknowledged, “I am guilty. I killed Roger of Stoke because Robin gave him a secret message for you, sire. Robin wanted to warn you about the Black Knights, and I had to stop him at the sheriff’s order. I found Roger of Stoke and killed him.”

The lion let out a sigh. “I know why you murdered Roger. What about Lord William Loughborough? I received a report that he disappeared in Nottingham.”

Guy sank into a morass of self-loathing and dread: he despised himself for all his crimes and for his cowardice to hold himself accountable for them. Staring into the king’s eyes, he declared, “I attacked Loughborough at the sheriff’s order and fatally wounded him. I murdered him in cold blood.”

Marian shuddered in shock at the memory of Guy telling her about Loughborough’s murder. Melisende muttered something unintelligible under her breath.

“Well, at least you don’t deny your guilt,” the lion said.

Guy nodded. “I don’t.”

In the silence that fell upon the room when Guy ceased speaking arose an aura of disquiet; it was full of gloomy forebodings in which they were lost for a long moment.

Guy was in a bit of a pained daze, his blood chilled by a feeling of mortal dread. He had never feared anyone as much as he was afraid of King Richard at the moment. Yet, never before had he felt as much hope to become a free man – free from Vaisey’s clutches and from his demons – as he was feeling at the moment. The king had a strange influence on Guy: he made Guy fear, respect, and admire him for the ability to manipulate and cause impact on everyone, even on the disillusioned Guy. He might have been deaf, dumb, without any feeling, but the king would still have an immense influence on his subjects. Guy just hoped that King Richard was not entirely impenetrable to persuasion, coaxing, to soft words and heartfelt confessions.

Marian felt uncomfortable; all sorts of conflicted emotions were churning inside her. From time to time, she intercepted Melisende’s curious glances at her and the woman’s scornful glances at Guy. Her mind momentarily drifted back to Robin who had died in Imuiz, and a bubble of ire gurgled up to the surface – the anger at the injustice of the suffering inflicted on Robin and her. Marian suddenly heard with terror the voice of her overpowering love for Robin commanding her to be silent and stifle her anger, channeling all her energy into helping Guy deal with the king. Robin wanted Richard to pardon Guy, and Marian would do her best to ensure that it happened, for Robin, for Guy, and for herself.

§§§

A derisive gleam in his eyes, King Richard burst out laughing, but it was not a pleasant laugh. “You seem to be deprived of all moral norms, Sir Guy! By chance, didn’t you try to kill my beloved mother, Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, or the Holy Roman Emperor, or perhaps even His Holiness?"

Marian regarded the king suspiciously, but his face was unreadable. She couldn’t decipher whether the Lionheart was really impressed by Guy’s honesty or was shocked by the revelations of Guy’s treachery that was plotted against him, the treason which the king could probably feel in the hallways of his own palace.

“Never, sire.” Guy looked intensely mortified.

"Do you have something to justify your criminal actions?" The king’s mocking smile was still on his lips, his eyes cold, and then, suddenly, his face turned blank.

Guy looked at the king fearlessly. “No. I have nothing else to say to defend myself.”

The king stared down for a moment at his feet. Then he nodded. “Very well then.”

There was a tense silence in the room for several long moments.

Her eyes fastened to her cousin’s, Melisende entered into the conversation. “Richard, I don’t understand why Gisborne is still alive. He has confessed to plotting against you. He committed heinous crimes against England and you. He attempted to kill you, the King of England, and our Robin; he also played a certain role in Robin’s death.” She rose to her feet and pointed at Guy. “He is a traitor. His sentence is death.”

Richard felt his chest heave with waves of unbearable pain as Robin’s voice beseeching him to spare Gisborne’s life sounded in his ears. “Melisende, you know what Robin begged me to do, don’t you?” he reminded her cautiously.

A sigh tumbled from Melisende’s lips. “I do know that.”

“Then, my dear Melisende, you must understand that I cannot go against Robin’s deathbed wish,” Richard told his cousin gently.

“Richard, I respect my husband’s last wish, although I believe Robin was too generous to those who don’t deserve that,” Melisende affirmed, her eyes shooting daggers at Guy. “But this man attempted to assassinate you and sided with John. He is one of the Black Knights and worked against you for many years. He is dangerous, and he may try to kill you again, Richard.”

“Wait,” Richard urged. “Sir Guy said that he didn’t want to kill me. Is that true?”

Guy nodded. “I didn’t want to do that, but I was afraid that Vaisey would kill Marian.”

Silence ensued. Guy’s steady gaze rested on the king for a moment and then drifted to Marian, who felt a hot, crimson blush spread over her face as their eyes met. Marian and Guy were increasingly aware that the king would soon voice his verdict about Guy’s fate.

His red-gold hair blazing in the candlelight, the king scrutinized Guy like some kind of very weird animal. After a short silence, he voiced his decision. “Sir Guy Crispin Fitzcorbet of Gisborne has confessed willingly and truthfully, and I cannot deny that I am surprised with this honest confession, for it is an honorable and bold action,” he said, with a touch of astonishment. “I am going to keep my word given to Robin. I am granting Sir Guy my absolute pardon, and I will transfer on his name the former Gisborne lands, although it goes against my better judgment.” He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. “Besides, I don’t think that he will try to murder me again, not after what I am going to tell you.”

“Sire, I thank you with all my heart,” Marian uttered with a warm smile.

Guy bowed deeply in respect to the king. He had never thought that the Lionheart could be so generous to those who betrayed him. A wonderful feeling of relief and wonder was beginning to engulf him, and his heart soared. “I don’t know how to thank you, milord. I find it hard to believe you are ready to pardon me, but I am very grateful.”

“Wait and see before you thank me, Sir Guy,” Richard added unexpectedly.

A scared Guy stiffened and averted his eyes, his mind filled with fear of some fatal disclosure.  Marian cast an alarmed glance at the king, conscious of her heart rate quickening as a rush of staggering fear inundated her. They couldn’t trust themselves to murmur a word for fear of saying too much and displeasing their sovereign; and the very depth of the terror that stirred the innermost recesses of their hearts was unfathomable.

Richard’s metallic voice pulled Guy and Marian out of their reverie. “What I really want to talk to you about is very important and confidential. It will change many things. I promised Robin that I would reveal the truth to Sir Guy, and I am not going back on my word, although this is not what I want to do.”

“Mon Dieu, Richard!” Melisende leaped to her feet. “If it is a private conversation, I would leave. Even if you are ready to pardon this man, I cannot forget that he tried to kill you and my husband many times, both in Nottingham and in Acre.”

“Our conversation is extremely important,” the king declared emphatically. “Melisende, take a seat there. Don’t overexcite yourself.” He rose to his feet and walked over to a table in the corner. Then he poured out to a goblet of wine for himself and returned to his armchair. “My dear, it concerns Robin and, thus, the child you are carrying. You must know the truth about the origins of Robin and your child.”

Melisende blinked her eyes. “Richard…”

“Please sit down, my dear,” the king said softly.

The king’s cousin smiled at the king moodily. “As you wish, Richard.” The skirts of her violet velvet gown fluttered around her feet as she eased herself in her armchair.

Marian and Guy stared at Melisende in amazement. They noticed a haunted look in Melisende’s eyes as the king had spoken about her condition before her eyes turned blank. Despite a nasty combination of the envy and jealousy clawing into her heart as she would also want to have a child of her own, Marian was relieved that someone would continue Robin’s line. Even despite her blooming beauty, Melisende looked unhealthy: she had lost some weight and was ghostly white, and yet, she still looked as if she were breathing life into the room, maybe because a child was growing inside her. Melisende stared at Guy and Marian with her glowing violet eyes blazing with fire and inner strength.

“Congratulations, Lady Melisende,” Marian said sincerely.

In spite of the inner tension, a small smile lit up Guy’s face. “Please accept my congratulations, my lady.”

“Thank you,” Melisende responded aloofly as if she had more philosophical things on her mind.

The king smiled vaguely, his spirits suddenly lifting a bit. “At least we have someone left after Robin… It is a great pity that Robin didn’t know about his own child.” There was an incredibly wistful expression on his face. “Robin’s child will continue the Huntingdon line and will inherit all that belonged to Robin, except for the Gisborne lands, and, of course, everything which currently belongs to Melisende.” Lounging carelessly in his comfortable armchair, he took a sip of his wine. “If it is a girl, she will be the Countess of Huntingdon in her own right; the line won’t die out.”

Melisende nodded slowly. “At least God gave me a gift from Robin. It is not Robin, but it is a piece of him.” Looking at Richard, her usually regal expression replaced morphed into vulnerability for an instant and then regained its coldness.

Richard smiled at his cousin. “Robin’s life was precious to me throughout many years. This child will also be precious to me.” In Melisende’s eyes, the king saw the heartbreak that mirrored his own emotions he masterfully masked. “Maybe this child will be able to fill the hollowness in our hearts after Robin’s passing.”

“I doubt that, Richard,” the king’s cousin retorted. A tear slid down her cheek, and she turned her head away, staring into the flames.

Marian’s gaze followed Melisende’s, and she stared into the flare of several torches. The orange flames reflected their feelings – pain and heartache – in a whimsical way as they could cause a human skin to burn upon a slight touch. Both women were burning from the inside out, like their hearts like a funeral pile kindled in the dead of night while all else around them was black and terrible as purgatory.

A brokenhearted Melisende was utterly devastated, like a town that was plundered and razed to the ground by an invading army of barbarians, but she wore her familiar mask of regal coldness and proud arrogance. In the past few days, she only wished to be in solitude in her bedchamber she had shared with Robin, trying to pretend that nothing had happened and Robin was alive. Grief was so colossal and so great that Melisende often wished to howl in pain like a wounded animal. At night, she woke up in cold sweat and wept until the salt lulled her to sleep. In daytime, she was taking care of her wounded and possibly dying cousin, and she had to keep her head high and her visage inscrutable, as if nothing could hurt her. Yet, in reality, Melisende struggled to stifle screams that she wanted Robin alive and she loved him, but she couldn’t give her painful emotions a free rein.

Melisende loved Robin, and she always would. But he was gone, and she couldn’t accept that she would never see him again. Only the child she was carrying was her link to Robin. She loved Robin and loved his child, but she knew that the baby wouldn’t compensate for the loss of Robin. She would give up everything, perhaps even her own child, if it meant that Robin would come back to her from the underworld.

There was a long silence in the room. Everyone waited for the king to speak.

King Richard grew serious. “I didn’t want to take Robin to the Holy Land, but he insisted that he must do his duty to his country and his king. He was a man of duty.”

Marian shifted her astounded blue eyes to the king. “Sire, do you mean that you wanted to spare him from the service to you?”

The king confirmed, “Yes, I wanted Robin to stay in England. I prohibited Robin from going to war as we didn’t want to endanger his life. However, having thought about the matter, I decided that it would be better to let him accompany me on the Crusade to prevent him from sneaking into the army and endangering his life even more.”

“Oh,” Marian breathed; she was amazed to the very depth of my heart.

“Robin,” Richard spelled out in a voice full of tenderness, like a deep and velvety smooth. “I have always loved him more than any other knight; Robin loved me in return. We were very close friends since his early youth.”

“It was impossible not to love Robin,” Melisende whispered.

A warm smile lit up the king’s face. “I took an immediate liking to Robin after his arrival in Poitiers. We quickly became friends, and over time, I grew to love him as a friend.”

“Oh.” Marian tried to breathe in deeply, but the air could barely squeeze through the constriction of her throat. She was shocked to hear such words from the king. Now she could understand why Robin had pledged his unconditional loyalty to Richard.

“I see.” Guy was astounded to learn how deep the king’s affection for Robin was.

“Your friendship meant a lot to Robin,” Melisende said quietly.

“Robin and his life meant to me more than our friendship,” Richard confessed. He paused, and the world seemed to slow as he remembered the scene of Robin’s death. He let out a deep, agonizing breath. “I tried to protect Robin from danger here, in the Holy Land. I asked some of my men to watch Robin discreetly in battles and save him at any cost; some of my men were seriously injured and died saving his life.”

Realization dawned upon Melisende who quickly connected her husband with Eleanor. “Richard, did you send Robin home to protect him?”

“Yes,” the king corroborated, letting out a deep sigh. “After you, Gisborne, had wounded him in the Saracen raid, I sent Robin home not because I didn’t need him here, for he is irreplaceable as my captain, but because I wanted to protect him.” A heavy sigh followed. “I didn’t know that John wanted to kill me, and I couldn’t predict that Robin would openly rebel against him. I recalled him back to the Holy Land because I feared that he would be murdered in England by the Black Knights.”

“You tried to protect him, sire?” Marian needed another confirmation.

Richard gave a nod. “Always.”

“Why, Richard?” Melisende’s curious brow shot up. “I know that you loved Robin – he was your most loyal subject, confident, and close friend. But I have never thought that you had protected him so much.”

There was a nervous silence as the king’s melancholic gaze flickered over his companions. “I gave my word to my beloved mother that I would keep an eye on Robin and would protect him," Richard responded melancholically. "I promised my mother that I would do my best to keep Robin safe and alive in the Holy Land." His chest heaved with a sigh. "But finally I led my dear Robin to his grave. I let my mother down."

A bewildered Melisende questioned, “Why did you promise it to Aunt Eleanor?”

Marian stared at the king in blank amazement. Guy barely managed to suppress a cry as he was trying to gauge the king’s thoughts.

After a moment’s pause, the monarch answered, “My mother loves Robin deeply. She has always asked me to protect him. I did that willingly and eagerly because I gave her a promise and out of my love for Robin. I still love him.” He trailed off, sighing deeply. “Robin and I shared blood.”

''Ah!" Marian gasped in shock. “But how is that possible, sire?”

“Possible.” Guy realized who the Queen Mother’s golden boy was.

Melisende surmised, “Richard, you mean Robin was your half-brother?”

King Richard turned his head and stared fixedly at one of the tapestries depicting a sunset above a vast blue sea as the sinking sun spread a glowing crimson tinge on the waters. “Yes. Robin was my half-brother. He was my mother’s son.”

Her mouth forming a shocked "oh" of surprise, Marian gasped for air as a white-hot heat of the shock burned in her lungs and tugged at her heart. Her eyes focused on her cousin, Melisende nodded in understanding, for she was not as surprised as Marian. Guy flicked his gaze to the lion, his heart beating thickly in his chest at the thought that the sheriff had killed the Queen Mother’s golden boy in the very end; he was disgusted with himself, feeling very guilty.

“Sire, with all due respect, I understand nothing. Robin is the son of Lady Elizabeth of Locksley who died in childbirth. But her child – Robin – was born healthy and survived,” Marian interposed, her features turning into disbelief. “Surely Robin knew who his parents were?”

“Robin knew nothing for many years, but only some time ago I told him the truth,” Richard elucidated. “Lady Elizabeth of Locksley died together with her stillborn daughter. The children were replaced.”

“And who is Robin’s father?” Melisende questioned.

“Sir Malcolm of Locksley,” Richard asserted. “Officially, Robin is the son of Sir Malcolm and Lady Elizabeth of Locksley, and only he had the right to be the Earl of Huntingdon. There is nobody who will ever say otherwise because all the witnesses are dead. I will say nothing more on the matter.”

There was a long, shocked silence after the king had finished speaking, and his companions were staring at him in awe mingled with sheer shock.

Marian and Guy exchanged anxious glances, and their minds drifted back to the strange murder of Thornton and Bridget, but neither of them dared voice their suspicions; they thought that some of Richard’s spies had killed two servants who had been about to tell them how the knight, who had saved Robin from Bailiff Longthorn, looked like. Clearly, Richard was the knight-savior of Robin Hood – the young Norman knight, whose powerful and muscular complexion had fascinated Bridget.

Guy even laughed in his mind that he hadn’t unraveled Queen Eleanor’s mystery before. He could have guessed that Robin of Locksley was the Queen Mother’s illegitimate son, especially after Marian had told him about Prince Richard being Robin’s legal guardian for some time. Another clue to Robin’s true identity was the fact that Robin had lived in Poitiers during Richard’s last rebellion against his father, the old King Henry. Richard had clearly taken Robin to Aquitaine to guarantee Robin’s survival in case of his death in battle or his father’s victory.

Nevertheless, the situation was confusing. But if Richard’s agents had been spying on Marian and Guy at Locksley Manor, why didn’t they kill both Marian and Guy? The things that Thornton and Bridget had informed them about were dangerously close to the truth of Robin’s birth. There was something they didn’t know, they both mused. There was a certain mystery behind the deaths of Thornton and Bridget, but both Marian and Guy were sure that the culprit was very close to Richard.

§§§

The silence was deep and impenetrable, as if time had stood still. The walls with hangings and tapestries of crimson and rose colors were having an increasingly disturbing effect on everyone’s exacerbated nerves.

Guy hesitated, but he had to ask the question that was tormenting him since the regicide attempt in Imuiz. “Sire, I have a question,” he began, his eyes anxious, and his bottom lip showing a tendency to tremble. “When we were in Imuiz and the sheriff wanted to kill Marian, blackmailing us into killing you, Robin told me… that I cannot murder you… because I cannot kill my own brother. Is that true?”

The window was ajar, but it was still stuffy in the chamber. King Richard stood up and walked to the window. He stood there, a light breeze ruffling his hair, looking into Guy’s eyes. “Yes, that is true, Gisborne. We share blood through our father Henry.”

Marian and Melisende suffered another dreadful shock at the revelation. Neither of them could speak.

Guy blanched, looking more like a wraith than his usual self. “I have always known that my mother was King Henry’s mistress before marrying Roger of Gisborne, but I never thought that I am not his son.”

“Well, now you know the truth, Sir Guy,” Richard said, with a brief friendly grin. “My father had many mistresses. He changed them like clothes. Having as many women as possible in his bed was like breathing and eating for him.” He sounded scornful, even hateful. “You know, Sir Guy, you are even lucky that our father never believed in him being your father. Believe me that the official relation to the Plantagenet family might make things in your life a lot more difficult, especially if you are a man.”

Guy pointed out, “King Henry acknowledged some of his bastards.” 

Richard shook his head. “If our father had acknowledged you, Sir Guy, you could have found yourself in danger just because you are a Plantagenet on the paternal line, and because there are many willing people to fight for the throne. My own brother, John, wants to kill me to usurp my throne which I inherited from my father.” His voice halted as he collected his thoughts. “John has always hated all the bastards whom our father sired on his numerous mistresses and whores. He would have hated you, Gisborne, as well, if he had known the truth,” he said as he walked back to his armchair. “I doubt that you would have been a Black Knight who tried to kill me if John knew more about you.”

“Many of Uncle Henry’s bastards live at Aunt Eleanor’s court,” Melisende chimed in. “John has never been friendly towards them. He likes only Sir William Longespée, the Earl of Salisbury, whom Uncle Henry acknowledged as his son and gave him the honor of Appleby, Lincolnshire, in 1188.”

“Exactly, Melisende,” the lion agreed. “I am not speaking about Robin, the illegitimate son of my mother, whom John is not very fond of, to say the least. We have always feared that Robin’s true parentage would become known to John’s spies as John would have tried to get rid of Robin.”

A deeply troubled Melisende sighed. "John shouldn’t know."

Guy seemed to hesitate, and then he asked cautiously, “Milord, we spoke about Robin’s true parentage.” He licked his dry lips. “I swear that I won’t betray your trust, but I would like to know whether these things are somehow related to the truth you and Robin promised to tell me.”

The king inhaled deeply, his blue eyes piercing Guy’s face. A long silence stretched between them, and Guy almost lost hope that the king would speak; he glanced away, burning with humiliation.

The lion smiled grimly. “It is the most difficult part of the whole story,” he broke the pause. “There is the grim truth about things that happened a long time ago – the things related to the fire, in which Sir Malcolm of Locksley, Sir Roger of Gisborne, and Lady Ghislaine of Gisborne tragically died.” His gaze slid to Guy. “It was our father, Sir Guy, who was guilty of their deaths. He wanted Sir Malcolm, Sir Roger, and Robin dead.”

“King Henry?” Guy tossed his head in disbelief.

“King Henry wanted them dead?” Marian echoed. “Why?”

“Henry Plantagenet commanded to kill them,” Richard said as he rubbed his cheek. He pronounced the name of his own father with sheer contempt. “Our own father, the King of England, coveted them dead and asked Bailiff Longthorn to kill Sir Malcolm, Sir Roger, and Robin. The bailiff used his chance when he learned that they were trapped in the burning Gisborne Manor. Later, Longthorn attempted to murder Robin, but I stopped and killed him. Lady Ghislaine’s death in the fire was a coincidence.”

Marian and Melisende were so full of shock and fear that it transcended into a fiction telling of someone else’s story as opposed to Robin and Guy’s story. The next moment, however, they found their voices.

“Why did King Henry want Robin dead?” Marian inquired incredulously.

“Did Uncle Henry learn about Robin’s existence? It would have explained his sudden desire to lock up Aunt Eleanor and kill her lover and her bastard.” Melisende’s keen and lofty intellect never failed her.

Richard smiled sadly. “Exactly. Sir Malcolm told Lady Ghislaine of Gisborne about his affair with Queen Eleanor and Robin’s true parentage; he told her the whole story.” He moved in his armchair, ignoring the faint throb of his wound in his right shoulder.

“There is no way it could happen,” Guy protested.

In a voice layered with both anger and annoyance, Richard shot back, “Gisborne, you are wrong. Sir Malcolm had a secret affair with your mother; he trusted her and told her the truth; they planned to marry. It was your mother who told Roger of Gisborne the truth about Robin; by chance, or perhaps deliberately.”

“No!” Guy’s blood ran cold, his heart dropping to his feet.

“Yes,” the king parried in a metallic voice. “Sir Roger became a traitor in the Holy Land. He was captured by the Saracens and put to the rack. He informed the Saracens about an important war operation.” He released a tired sigh. “The Saracens knew in advance what a squad of Norman warriors planned, and as a result, many Christian knights died. Roger of Gisborne’s treason caused deaths of many people.”

“And what happened next?” Melisende’s voice was impatient.

The king let out a dejected smile. “Roger of Gisborne spent many years in the Saracen prison, but he miraculously survived and returned to England. In England, he was a traitor to the crown, but he craved to seek forgiveness of his king.” He looked fixedly at Guy. “With a vile plan in his calculative mind, Sir Roger came to our father and revealed to him the secret of Robin’s parentage, hoping to be pardoned in exchange for the revelation of the queen’s adultery with Sir Malcolm and its product – Robin.”

“No,” Guy moaned, his eyes pleading the king to refute the dreadful words.

“That all is true,” Richard said in a chilly voice. “Sir Roger of Gisborne reported to our father that the Queen of England had an affair with Sir Malcolm of Locksley and birthed his child.”

“Guy, your mother and Robin’s father were lovers?” Marian’s eyes widened in bewilderment.

His eyes flashed with rage at the memory of Malcolm of Locksley, and Guy nodded at Marian. “I once told you that my mother had two extramarital affairs. These men were King Henry and… Malcolm of Locksley. This is another reason why I hated Robin.”

“Oh, my God,” Marian breathed.

Melisende could only shake her head. “That’s the most tragic and unbelievable tale I have ever heard.”

Richard smiled at his cousin, knowingly. “But it is real, Melisende.”

“No,” Guy muttered desperately. “That cannot be true. My father… Roger was not a traitor! My father cannot be a traitor! How can that be?”

“That is true!” the king’s voice boomed. “Several Knights Templar still remember Sir Roger’s treason in the Holy Land. Now they are old men, but they are still alive. Most of them are in England, but one is here, in Acre. I can give you his name so that you find him and ask him questions; he will tell you the same.”

Guy glanced at the king helplessly, with eyes full of pain and guilt. “Even if King Henry ordered to kill them and the bailiff tried to do that, I murdered my parents! I dropped the torch! It is my fault!”

Richard frowned slightly. “You started the fire, Gisborne, but ask yourself whether the fire was so great that it was absolutely impossible to exit the manor. As far as I know, Bailiff Longthorn acted quickly and almost forced the villagers to burn the manor: he intimidated them by saying that leprosy could spread through the village rapidly, and, thus, everyone could be infected. The huge fire which the villagers had started blocked all escape routes, and the trapped people were doomed to die in the flames.”

Guy’s features twisted into a look of shocked disbelief, his heart somersaulting in the throes of grief. “All these years I thought it was my fault, that my parents died because of the fire that I started, but it was my real father and Bailiff Longthorn who killed my mother and the man whom I called my father.” His voice turned lower and vibrated in his chest as he went on. “That guilt was with me every day. Every day!”

Marian called to Gisborne gently, “Guy, please calm down.”

“How can I stay calm?” Guy jumped to his feet and began pacing the chamber back and forth. “My father is not my father. My true father is the King of England who betrayed me and looked at the fact that I, his son, suffered in Normandy, in abject poverty, working as a slave to get some food for myself and my sister,” he spoke hastily, his voice shaking with emotion. “How could the king, my father, allow his son to be dispossessed even if he wanted to kill Malcolm of Locksley and my father… erm... Sir Roger of Gisborne?”

The king’s words of displeasure greeted Guy's outburst. “Sir Guy, you must take a hold of your emotions. Don't embarrass yourself in front of your liege.”

“Forgive me, milord,” Guy blurted out hastily.

“Granted,” the lion returned aloofly.

“Robin,” the king whispered in a caressing voice; there was unbelievable tenderness in his voice when he pronounced only Robin’s name. “I loved him with all my heart.”

“And so did I,” Melisende murmured. Her eyes met Richard’s, full of chasmal grief. “I loved Robin so much.”

“I know, Melisende,” Richard said with understanding; his expression turned tender and wistful for a moment. “I lost my beloved Robin, too, my only brother who really loved me with all my faults, with all my weaknesses and strengths, who was utterly loyal to me and England.” Then wistfulness was gone, and his face transformed into harshness. “And, unlike you, Gisborne, I am not performing scenes of drama here.”

Guy stopped pacing the chamber and returned to his armchair. As he seated himself and risked casting a brief glance at Richard, all he could see was the king’s unforgivable and fierce expression. Yet, Guy noticed that there was something vulnerable in the depths of Richard’s eyes: he realized that the lion was endeavoring to conceal his grief. The king was so overwhelmed with feelings of the excruciating pain and black sorrow for the loss of Robin that there was no place for other emotions in his heart.

Initially, Guy had hoped that the king could probably have some compassion for him, but the lion’s attitude remained hostile while his aversion was not in the least pretended. A wave of heartache struck Guy full force, hard enough that for a moment he thought he would faint. A pang of regret passed through him at the thought that the king, his newly acquired half-brother, loathed him so deeply. He knew that Richard talked to him only out of deep love for Robin of Locksley who wanted the king to unveil the mysteries of the past; Richard opened the truth only to grant Robin’s last wish.

Marian was stunned with the coldness in the king’s tone. “Sire, Guy is shocked!”

The lion scowled at her. “Lady Marian, Gisborne is a grown-up man. He must control himself. If he doesn’t understand something, he must accept all at face value.”

Marian thought that she had misheard him. “Sorry?”

“I mean that I understand Gisborne’s shock, but he must accept reality and listen, then ask questions and nothing else.” There was a sharp rebuke in the lion’s voice. “Let’s not waste time on emotions because I am not interested in Sir Guy’s feelings at all.”

Marian was struggling to hide her ire. “Feelings are more important than rational reasoning. The reasoning makes mistakes, but conscience and heart never do.”

“As troublesome and willful as Robin,” Richard commented. “Much of our reasoning ends in surrender to feelings, but it is not a royal prerogative.”

“Richard, it is a difficult moment for Sir Guy. I am taken aback, and imagine what he is feeling!” Melisende addressed her cousin in an imploring tone. “Be a good soul and say nothing about our royal burdens; not now.”

Richard smiled and softened instantly. He loved and adored Melisende, and he couldn’t turn her request down. “As you wish, my dear,” he told her.

“Thank you.” Marian was full of gratitude as she glanced at Melisende.

“Thank you.” Like Marian, Guy gave Melisende a gaze full of kindness and gratitude. She was his cousin on his natural father’s side, and he appreciated that she had defended him in front of the king.

“Everything is much more complicated,” the king continued flatly. “The Plantagenet blood is a deadly poison that kills slowly and painfully. The Plantagenets are never united and always fight each other.”

Melisende smiled sadly. “Always fighting for power and the throne.”

“We, the Plantagenet family, often mock things which most people hold sacred,” the king stated dolefully, drumming his fingers along the arms of the armchair. “In the same fashion, many years ago, I had to make a cruel deal with our father to save Robin and ensure that he lived a normal life at the price of my mother’s imprisonment until our father’s death, my pledge to keep an eye on Robin, and the sacrifice of the Gisbornes to appease father’s wrath.” He sighed deeply. “And, most importantly, Sir Guy, our father never believed that you are his son. He was convinced that your mother had betrayed him with another man.”

King Richard spoke for more than half an hour, giving an outrageous tale of secrets, betrayals, deceits, and horrors, a tale which Guy wished vehemently to deny but couldn’t. Guy watched the King of England, his half-brother whose life he had tried to take twice, thanking God that he had failed thanks to Robin. He listened without intervening and asking questions, fearful that the king would be displeased. He saw that the lion was holding onto his temper with effort, for it was difficult to talk about the past and admit his partial guilt and the fact of his contribution to the plight of the Gisbornes.

He recalled strange, mysterious phrases which Malcolm and Roger had exchanged when Malcolm had appeared at Gisborne Manor while Roger and Ghislaine had discussed their relationship. His mind reproduced the verbal exchange between Roger and Malcolm as the two men had fought while Ghislaine had beseeched them to stop. At that time, Guy hadn’t understood many things, but now everything became very clear. Of course, Guy also remembered the words spoken by the priest who had told him that Roger had wronged Malcolm and Robin; the churchman had said to him the truth, and he was grateful for the warning.

Guy could still hear Roger of Gisborne screaming that Malcolm of Locksley was an adulterer and a traitor who had seduced a lady of high station while his own wife had carried his child; Roger had meant Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, so he had most definitely been aware of the queen’s secret. Malcolm’s accusation of double treason towards Roger was still ringing in Guy’s ears; now he realized that Robin’s father had referred to Roger’s treason in the Holy Land and the personal betrayal of Malcolm and Queen Eleanor. Guy knew that Richard didn’t lie, but he didn’t comprehend how the king had managed to learn such details.

The tale of Lady Ghislaine of Gisborne’s betrayal of Queen Eleanor, who had arranged a marriage of Guy’s mother to Roger of Gisborne, followed. Richard also spoke about Ghislaine’s liaison with Malcolm, which shocked Guy. The despicable actions of Sir Roger of Gisborne, the man whom Guy had loved, mourned for, respected, and considered his father, horrified Guy to the core, and a tide of unbridled anger ripped through him. For the first time in his life, Guy felt he loathed Roger for what the man had done, even though he had wanted to save himself and family, his title and lands.

Ghislaine’s betrayal was easier to accept because she betrayed only Malcolm’s trust, but Roger’s betrayal went much deeper as the treacherous man had been ready to trade the life of an innocent child – Robin’s life – for a pardon of his liege whom he had previously betrayed in the Holy Land. Guy could understand his mother, for he was sure that she had shared with Roger the secret unintentionally and not knowing how he would use it against Robin and Malcolm; but Guy couldn’t justify Roger’s villainy. He also loathed Malcolm of Locksley for his shameless liaison with the Queen of England.

Soon Richard started a sad story about King Henry’s demands from him in exchange for letting Robin lead a normal life of a rich earl. Part of Guy was screaming in silent anguish that he had lived a life full of lies, but the rational part of him was not surprised with the actions of his real father, Henry, and even with Richard’s willingness to sacrifice his, Guy’s wellbeing, to save Robin. Guy knew that Richard loved his mother madly and was ready to do anything for her, even to sacrifice Guy, his half-brother, to save another half-brother. Obviously, Robin had a preference over Guy in Richard’s world because Robin was Eleanor’s beloved son, while Guy was Henry’s bastard.

A feeling of hatred for both Henry and Richard stirred in Guy’s heart, and his eyes strayed to the carpet as he fought to regain his composure. But the furious rage that had consumed him moments ago faded into his controlled anger and overpowering heartache. Suddenly, a nascent hope flooded through his tormented heart, and Guy felt that he no longer hated Robin, who turned out to be not as guilty as he had believed before. Guy was sinking in the deep waters of despair and guilt that he had hated Robin and had been covetous of seeing his sworn enemy dead; he also envied Robin who had died without any sense of guilt in his breast, in the full peace of his conscience as far as other people were concerned.

Richard continued speaking, revealing more new details of the dark story that had happened between Malcolm, Ghislaine, and Roger. More and more facts and truths were voiced by the king, and Guy found himself utterly heartbroken becoming more and more confused; he was lost in a sea of pain, darkness, and grief, and nobody could part those dark waters. Guy’s world was broken into many small pieces, and there was a deep bleeding wound in his heart. Bathing in a cold clammy sweat, the pulse being wild, Guy knew only one thing for sure – the name of his real father. Everything else seemed to be so unreal and unbelievable that for a moment, he was sure he was dreaming.

§§§

The last words of the outrageous tale fell like drops of lethal poison into a pool of utter silence, and the King of England lapsed into silence, deafening and shocked.

“Sir Guy, I warned you that you wouldn’t like this story,” Richard enunciated after a long pause. His tone was distant and cold; there was no a trace of compassion in his voice.

“You are right, sire. I am utterly shocked,” Guy confessed.

Guy felt as if a torrent of water cascaded down from the ceiling. Yet, he wasn’t in the deepest of despair, although he was in troubled waters mentally. Somehow, he managed to find a hand, and he clutched it like a key of power to release the beneficent waters of some mythological river which would inundate his pitch-black world with a salutiferous liquid that would wash the filth from his soul and help his wounds heal. Guy removed iron chains from his heart. He could breathe easier now; he was free.

“Any other questions, Gisborne?” Richard apparently was in the mood to assert his royal authority.

Breathing heavily, Guy’s eyes roamed over the lion’s features. “Why didn’t our father believe that I am his son if my mother was his mistress?”

The king looked pensive. “My mother, Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, told me a long and sad story about Lady Ghislaine de Bailleul, later of Gisborne.” He paused, assessing Guy’s mental state. “She was young, beautiful, and naïve. Our father was a handsome and powerful man at his prime, all the more the King of England, who seduced many young ladies of high station. I think she was smitten with his attention and generosity.” He smirked. “Our father was a generous lover, bestowing upon his mistresses expensive gifts and trinkets which later could be converted into gold coin.”

Guy countered, “I think that my mother was with… the king because she loved him or at least liked him, not for gifts. She was born in a wealthy family, and it was not her fault that her liege wanted her.”

“You misunderstood me, Gisborne.  I don’t blame your mother, for I know how our father seduced and charmed ladies,” Richard elaborated in an astonishingly calm voice. “Only God may know how many times our father cheated on my mother, his queen, and how unhappy and miserable he made her life.”

“I heard a lot about the despicable treatment of Queen Eleanor by King Henry,” Guy said.

“You don’t know even half of what our father did to my mother,” the lion muttered disdainfully, in a voice colored with sheer aversion. “That’s why I never condemned my mother for having extramarital affairs and for giving birth to Robin.”

“Very true,” Melisende agreed.

The king stared at Guy. “My mother told me that Lady Ghislaine had been pursued by many suitors even before she became the king’s mistress. There was one man who wished to marry her, but she rejected him. Later he watched closely Lady Ghislaine’s affair with the king, plotting revenge in his mind. That man learned that the king filled the lady with child – she was carrying you, Sir Guy.”

“Please, tell me everything, milord,” Guy begged, impatient to hear the rest of the story.

The king continued, “This man spread rumors that one of the courtiers was Lady Ghislaine’s second lover, simultaneously with the king.”

“Wasn’t that man thinking that he could fail?” Guy was intrigued.

Richard studied Guy with dark irony that was plainly written on his face. “Sir Guy, everything was very simple,” he said with amusement. “It was a calculated risk on his part, displaying his ultimate desire to take vengeance for rejection, but it was exactly what destroyed our father’s trust to Lady Ghislaine.”

“My God,” Guy muttered; his heart was broken.

“Don’t be so sad, Gisborne,” Richard told him with feigned care; he was cruelly mocking Guy. “Out of all the people here, you cannot be the most heartbroken one.”

“Definitely,” Melisende mimicked her cousin.

Marian flushed; she wanted to slap hard both Richard and Melisende. It was horrible of her to think so, but she couldn't help herself.

Richard lifted his hand and pointed at Gisborne. “For the afore-mentioned reason, Sir Guy of Gisborne, our father never believed that you are his son. You shouldn’t worry: you lost nothing from not knowing about your true parentage for so long because our father was a really bad father,” he continued in a taunting tone. “Our father’s pride was injured by your mother’s alleged betrayal, and it prompted him to set out for revenge on Lady Ghislaine for her infidelity to him when he had a chance; this is the reason why he sacrificed you, Sir Guy, in our deal for the sake of Robin.”

“That is in Uncle Henry’s fashion,” Melisende opined.

“Who was the man?” Tight-lipped, Guy gritted his teeth.

“Lord Peter Vaisey,” Richard promulgated.

Guy shook his head in disbelief. He then asked in a hoarse voice, "Vaisey?"

“Yes,” the king confirmed. “Gisborne, you placed yourself into the most amusing situation by pledging your loyalty to the man who ruined your mother’s reputation in the eyes of your real father.”

“Good Heavens! Are you sure, milord?” Guy blinked; his pulse was galloping.

“My mother, Queen Eleanor, told me that,” Richard said firmly.

"Another question, sire. How do you know so many details about my mother’s relationship with Malcolm of Locksley?" Guy asked straightforwardly.

“I have many spies,” Richard supplied in a voice that left no room for further discussions. He didn’t intend to say anything about Malcolm’s survival in the fire.

An oppressive silence reigned. Marian and Melisende wanted to break that increasingly hostile silence, but words stuck in their throats, and Guy's angry expression didn't help. Marian risked another glance at Guy, thinking, with a dull ache in her heart, that all was changing in their lives swiftly and dramatically; now they knew that Vaisey had stood behind the tragedy with King Henry’s repudiation of Guy’s true parentage.

Red-hot anger coiled in his stomach, and Guy burst out laughing halfheartedly. “I have never suspected how truly evil and cunning Vaisey has always been. What a blind fool I was!” He jumped to his feet and strode over to the window that overlooked the harbor of Acre; he stared out, into the darkness. “I will kill Vaisey,” he said resolutely.

King Richard sighed. “A man must follow his conscience, but not in this case. I have different plans for this traitor.” He was quiet for a minute, thinking hard about Guy’s words; then he went on. “My absence in England meant dark days for the kingdom and the nation. Vaisey’s death should be public and humiliating; we can kill him only if there is no way to detain him, or if we need to save someone by taking his life.”

Melisende dipped her head in agreement. “This beast murdered Robin, and I myself would gladly kill him, but a public, bloodthirsty execution would serve him better.”

“Gisborne, I pardoned you and told you the truth only because of Robin. I would have done anything for Robin, and I kept my word,” the king said in a silken voice.

Richard looked between Guy and Marian with the expression of innate tenderness as he was thinking of Robin, which was oddly unfamiliar for the king’s guests who had known him as the mighty Richard the Lionheart, a ruthless, cruel, and vengeful warrior king. Yet, the man, who talked to Marian and Guy during the whole evening, was different from the image they had carried in their mind for years.

"I understand it perfectly well.” A slight, thin smile curved Guy’s lips at the thought of Robin and his true relationship with the king.

The monarch’s gaze was oscillating between Marian and Guy. “Everything we discussed today is a grave secret.” He narrowed his eyes to slits. “Nobody must know the truth about Robin’s true parentage and the events that happened many years ago.” His eyes flared up with fire. “If you ever utter a word about the matter to anyone, it will automatically result in your death; nothing will save you.”

Marian and Guy nodded. The king wasn’t trying to intimidate them – their liege only told them the truth about their fates if they had revealed the secret to anyone.

“I swear on all I hold dear that I will keep everything a secret,” Guy vowed.

“And so will I,” Marian promised.

“It is in your interests,” the lion said, his gaze hardening. "I know that Robin did some doubtful things to you, Gisborne. He told me about them. Robin always shared with me things that troubled his conscience, like I shared with him secrets too."

“There are some very personal things. I don’t think that–” Guy wanted to say that he didn’t want to hear that Robin had wronged him, but the king interrupted him.

“Gisborne, I don’t care what you think,” Richard gritted out. “I have my own opinion of what you should know and what you shouldn’t. Is that clear?”

Guy sensed danger in the king’s silken voice. “Yes, my liege.”

“Very well then,” the king said haughtily. “I know about the case with the arrow that wounded a priest in Locksley. Robin was ashamed of himself for lying that it was your arrow. It seems that Robin received a good lesson– he never lied again.”

Marian’s smile was as bright as the sunshine. “That’s what I thought.”

Without taking his eyes off Guy’s face, Richard continued, “Gisborne, you must know that Robin wanted to find you in Normandy several years ago; he sent his men from Locksley there. But I did everything to persuade Robin to forget about you, and I even dispatched my own men to intercept his people in order to stop them before they could locate you.” He glanced away. "I couldn’t risk Robin’s life when our father was alive. Yet, Robin himself tried to find you before the Crusade, but he failed.”

Guy paled in shock; guilt smote him. “I didn’t know.”

The lion shrugged. “Well, Robin and you never talked. Instead, you only tried to kill each another.”

Marian felt a pang of sorrow at the news that Robin had searched for Guy. Her eyes registered an embarrassing look cross Guy’s features, so very unfamiliar for him as opposed to his usual coldness.

“I regret that we had no time to talk with Robin and make things right.” Guy was endlessly thankful to Richard for telling him the truth, including the intimate things Robin had shared with his king. Alternating feelings of shock, regret, disbelief, and guilt were flashing across his weary visage, and he hung his head. “We could have been friends in childhood, but we never were. We could have been step-brothers if my mother had married Robin’s father, but, instead, they died in that cursed conflagration.”

The king’s mouth tightened, but his eyes were blank. “Let bygones be bygones, Sir Guy. I hope that now you will stop hating Robin.”

Guy was ready to sink into the earth. “I no longer hate Robin.”

Marian looked at the king. “My liege, I have a question about my father.”

At this, the lion smiled. “Lady Marian, I was very fond of Sir Edward of Knighton. Your father was a good man. He was loyal, honest, intelligent, and clever. Even though he didn’t look like a brave and strong warrior after the death of your mother, Lady Kate of Knighton, there was an invisible strength in him, in his gentle heart, which only those who were close to him could see and appreciate.”

Marian’s somber expression lips melted into a smile. “Thank you for your kind words, milord.”

The king scrutinized Marian whom he really liked. “Sir Edward was Sir Malcolm of Locksley’s old friend. He knew our secret from the beginning.” He ran his hand through his red-gold hair. “Sir Edward was Robin’s guardian until I assumed this responsibility, of course, only formally. He aided me to defend Robin from Bailiff Longthorn when the fiend kidnapped Robin and tried to kill him.”

“My father loved Robin like his own son,” Marian murmured. “Robin also loved him.”

“I know. Sir Edward was a parental figure to Robin.” The king folded his arms over his broad chest. “Robin often spoke about Sir Edward and you when he served in the private guard here, in the Holy Land.”

An amazed Marian cried out, “Robin spoke to you about us!”

The lion pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Yes, he did.” He shook his head. “Everything is like I thought,” he added, but he didn’t voice that she didn’t understand Robin very well.

“I am sorry, my liege?” Marian looked bewildered.

“I mean that Robin never wore his heart on his sleeve,” the king offered a hasty explanation. “As for your father, Lady Marian, my mother and I respected him very much and held him in very high regard. We owe Sir Edward a lot for his invaluable help to raise Robin.”

Marian let out a wistful smile. “There is no debt, milord. My father protected Robin out of his love and respect for Sir Malcolm and for Robin. I think he kept the secret out of his duty to Queen Eleanor as well.”

Richard gave Marian a nearly paternal smile. “My lady, please accept you my most sincere condolences on your father’s death. I am mourning for him, even though it is a glorious end for a man loyal to his king and country. Your father was one of the most loyal men I have ever met; I deeply respected him.”

“Thank you, milord,” Marian said, her voice tremulous with tears.

The lion smiled. “You are welcome, my lady.”

Guy entered into the conversation. “Sir Edward was a good man. He remained loyal to you even after the sheriff had locked him up in the dungeons.” Truth be told, he didn’t think that Edward of Knighton had died a heroic death but rather as a mere low criminal – in the street and at the hands of a corrupted clergyman. He believed that Hood could have done more to protect Edward from the sheriff’s men as they had run away together. But Marian didn’t need to know about his thoughts.

Richard reprobated, “Sir Guy, you watched Vaisey make an old good man suffer?”

Guy prepared to be on the receiving end of castigation once more. “I could do nothing. Sir Edward was against Prince John and Vaisey. He refused to sign the Pact of Nottingham. If I had tried to save Sir Edward, I would have ended up in the dungeon, together with Marian and her father. There was no way I could have rescued him.”

The king shook his head disapprovingly. “Gisborne, you could do many things to help Sir Edward. You were the sheriff’s henchman. But you didn’t want to risk your neck.”

“Sire, I–” Richard interrupted Guy.

The king sent Guy a predatory smile. “It would have never stood in direction opposition to the sheriff because you are a practical man! Vaisey promised you power and wealth!” He smirked. “Sir Guy, you said that if you kill me, you will have power beyond measure. That’s why you served Vaisey for so long! Isn’t that why you tried to kill me? Isn’t that why you didn’t want to break from Vaisey for years?”

“I… don’t know.” A mortified Guy gazed down, at the carpet, but the color of human blood only caused him to feel weighed down by a load of his misery and woes. He was profoundly shocked that Richard had heard his talk with Marian in the courtyard. “Maybe I could have done more for Sir Edward,” he admitted.

“Yes, Guy, you definitely could,” Marian joined the conversation.

Guy lifted his gaze to Marian’s face. “I am sorry.” He had nothing else to offer.

Richard grinned sardonically. “Sir Guy, I have encountered a lot of people like you. I know what they are covetous of having in their worthless lives and what they are capable of doing in their unholy quest for power and riches.” He scoffed. “The realm of my empire is full of traitors who would run to my brother today or tomorrow if he promises to grant them an earldom or more lands, or to give them profitable positions. They would toad up to every Plantagenet and lavish them with intoxicating words of adulation, but if you strip the varnish off their faces, you would see greedy and ambitious men without a soul.”

“Sire, sometimes life makes us do what we don’t want to do.” Guy went still, looking embarrassed.

The king laughed disparagingly. “Gisborne, don’t be so discomfited. Did you consider me a foolish and weak king, who can only fight in the Holy Land and who cares only about fighting in some godforsaken land?” He let out a scornful chuckle. “Isn’t that what you told Lady Marian in the courtyard in Imuiz?”

“This man really wronged you a lot, Richard,” Melisende intervened.

“I am sorry, milord. I… want to apologize… for my words,” Guy stammered.

“Nothing may excuse your disrespectful behavior towards your king,” Richard said.

Melisende put all her disdain into her grimace as she locked her gaze with Guy. “Sir Guy, shame on you! This is absolute disrespect to your liege!”

Marian barely repressed her ire, struggling to not make a verbal lash out against the king’s cousin; she would have told Melisende many things if they were alone now. Quarreling with Melisende could have bad consequences for Guy and herself.

Guy felt uncomfortable and guilty. “I beg my pardon, sire. I can say nothing more.”

“Calm down, Sir Guy.” Richard’s face turned serious. “I know people like you. You are rational and practical to the core. You may feel remorse, but your practicality dominates, and it is essential to guide and care for yourself. Your head will never be filled with idealistic beliefs and illusions.” He smiled. “If I ever need you, I will let you know; I never forget the debt my subjects owe to me.”

“I am at your disposal, sire.” Guy bowed submissively.

A deep silence settled over the chamber; everyone was absorbed in their thoughts.

“There are too many traitors in England and the Angevin Empire,” Melisende spoke after a long pause, her voice edged with festering hatred. “They deserve painful, gruesome deaths. I hate traitors!”

Gisborne gazed away. Melisende was like Robin in many aspects, like her hatred for traitors. Marian cringed at the ruthlessness and chilliness in Melisende’s voice.

Richard reached out for Melisende and took her hand in his; their fingers entwined. “My darling, I swear all traitors will pay with their lives.”

“Richard, I want Sheriff Vaisey and the Black Knights to die brutal death,” Melisende hissed, her voice edged with arctic chillness. “The regicide attempts on your life and Robin’s death must be avenged.”

“You will have their blood. I swear that they will pay for the death of every man who died in battles with the Black Knights,” Richard said in a sibilant tone. “They will pay for Robin’s death.”

“Blood for blood, an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,” Melisende retorted in a voice layered with hatred steeped in sorrow and pain.

“They will pay with blood for Robin’s death,” Richard he hissed between his teeth; his hand touched the golden cross on his chest. “They will pay for taking Robin from us.”

Marian and Guy shared uneasy glances. They both understood the grief of the king’s cousin, but they saw that the royal lady was overflowing with dreams of revenge. They didn’t criticize her for her hatred of Vaisey and the Black Knights. After all, the sheriff and the Black Knights wanted to kill her royal cousin, and Vaisey had killed Robin. It was understandable that Melisende loved Robin and was grieving her loss.

Yet, Melisende could have been cruel in rage, or if she was possessed by hatred. She was unconditionally and utterly loyal to England and the King of England. She was England’s lady through and through, like Robin was England’s man to the core. It was obvious that Melisende was an honest lady, bluntly honest like Robin; she also could have been compassionate, and she had a wealth of goodness in her heart. At the same time, Melisende was similar to the Plantagenets in many ways, although she was not as villainous and cruel as Prince John. The young and beautiful Countess of Huntingdon had a deep potential for ruthlessness and blind ambition, and at times she could be chilling even to noble cohorts if they crossed her.

King Richard and Lady Melisende had two facets: England’s and personal facets on different occasions. Beneath a façade of regalness and coldness lay emotions, feelings regrets, burdens, and troubles. Both Richard and Melisende were burdened with state affairs and political problems, which had a significant impact on them. Those who were not born in royal families didn’t understand them and didn’t see their true personalities through their masks of courtesy and respect for similarly wealthy and influential people, through their blandness. They could be compassionate and kind, generous and caring, cunning and cruel; they both were passionate people who loved fiercely and hated ferociously. Beneath their haughty royal appearances, they had serious, dark, ruthless thoughts that would take more than the heat of a forever flaming fire to brighten; they could destroy everyone and everything that stood on their path.

The monarch sighed deeply. “If I get back to England safely, I swear that all the Black Knights will pay for high treason. Lord Vaisey will regret that he was born,” he avowed.

“They all deserve death. To be hanged, drawn, and quartered,” Melisende averred, her eyes glowing with sheer hatred, although her visage was impassive.

Marian lowered her head. Guy eyed Richard and Melisende, thinking that he was a lucky man to be pardoned. Richard was a vindictive and cruel man, especially if he was possessed by fury, or if it suited the interests of his family and his own interests.

Richard’s features hardened. “I cannot execute John, and I don’t want to punish him with death because he is my brother, although I despise his treacherous, low soul, and I am fed up with his plots.” He slid his gaze to Guy. “I will pardon a lot of nobles, including English lords and many Norman lords, as well as other nobles from my continental lands.” A lurid flame of hatred glowed in his eyes that darkened a shade with rage. “But everyone, who signed the Pact of Nottingham, will be executed for high treason. It is a matter of duty and honor for me to make them pay.”

“Excellent,” Melisende spoke, her metallic voice sounding as feminine as usual.

Richard looked at Marian, feeling that he had to give her some sort of explanation. “Those nobles, who signed the Pact of Nottingham, caused too much harm to their King and their own countrymen. They tried to kill me so many times that I had lost a great many loyal and good men, my soldiers.” A sigh escaped his lips. “Too many people died because of the Black Knights, Vaisey’s friends.”

Melisende turned her head away, looking into the flames. “Sir Guy, you are forever in debt to my cousin and to Robin. You really deserve to be executed.”

Just then, Guy looked as troubled as a man before the crucifixion. “I know that I don’t deserve your pardon, my liege. I swear that I will do anything for you, my liege. I will be loyal to my king and England.”

“Thank you for pardoning Guy.” Marian was annoyed with the necessity to thank the king again, but she also knew that it was an act of obeisance for both of them.

The king glanced around, his gaze embracing the chamber hung with tapestries embroidered with whimsical crimson patterns that had a dismal effect on everyone’s mood. “Thank Robin and God.” He pondered over whether he should tell Guy more about Robin. When he spoke, his voice sounded harsher. “Gisborne, Robin beseeched me to pardon you several days before the regicide attempt, but I rebuked all his attempts. Only one thing saved you – Robin’s deathbed plea. I couldn’t reject Robin’s request when he gave his life for me and was dying in my arms.”

Guy said nothing. He was stunned that Robin had pleaded on his behalf before their arrival in Acre, which meant that Robin had learned the truth and had wanted to redress the injustices of the past. Guilt was tearing his heart in two halves, and for the space of a few heartbeats, the pain in his chest was so strong – it was almost physical – that he couldn't even breathe, as if a fire were devouring him from the inside.

Richard rose to his feet. He groaned in pain as a simple movement still troubled his wound a great deal. He came to the door and walked out. In a moment, he returned with Roger de Tosny. The king walked over to the table with parchments and books.

“If you are loyal to your king, Guy of Gisborne, then your station is confirmed and you are safe from my retribution. I have already signed a royal pardon for you,” the king announced. He grabbed one parchment and motioned de Tosny to approach him as he ordered, “Roger, give these documents to Sir Guy. They officially make him exempt from any prosecution in England and in the Angevin Empire.” 

“Thank you, sire,” Guy said breathlessly. Despite many conflicting emotions swirling through him, he couldn’t deny that he didn’t deserve absolute pardon from the king.

The king glanced at de Tosny. “Roger, you and Sir Guy were friends years ago. You will accompany Sir Guy and Lady Marian on their journey back to our lands. You will sail from Acre in three days.” His gaze shifted to Guy. “I think, Gisborne, you will like the company of Allan whom I pardoned too. Much and John will also be with you.”

Guy and Marian could only stare at the king in amazement; they both were relieved to leave Acre, a land of death and suffering. Despite his betrayal, Guy was pleased that Allan would go with them. Yet, Guy disliked that John and Much would travel with them, knowing that there would be many arguments on the way back to England.

De Tosny regarded at the king with astonishment. “As you wish, milord. What about you?”

Richard turned his gaze to the flickering torches that hung the opposite wall of the chamber. “I am staying here for two weeks more. I haven’t completely recovered yet.”

“As you command, sire,” de Tosny responded, bowing.

The Lionheart heaved a deep sigh of grief. “I hope that they will find… Robin while I am still here.”

De Tosny struggled to keep his composure and his voice steady; he was grieving for Robin’s death. “Monsieur Henry de Champagne is doing all he can. A sandstorm covered the city with too much sand. They are digging sand around Acre and in Imuiz.”

Rage flashed across Richard’s countenance like a blow. “Offer them any reward to find him!” The trembling of his bottom lip was noticeable.

“As… you… command, milord,” de Tosny repeated, his voice cracking.

Marian sighed deeply and glanced into the window. Melisende bowed her regal head, looking down, at the crimson floor. Guy’s eyes traversed the crimson carpet in the room. Grief swept over them like a devastating storm. As all their thoughts were about Robin, the presence in the chamber decorated in the color of blood was unbearable.

The king snapped his fingers. “You may leave now, Sir Guy and Lady Marian. We have discussed everything.” He stifled a groan as he moved his shoulder that was still very sore. “I am feeling rather unwell, and I would prefer to rest in solitude.”

“I will assist you to lie down, Richard,” Melisende pronounced in a soft voice.

Marian dropped a curtsy, murmuring words of gratitude and wishes for speedy recovery. She was happy to leave the bloody room, which reminded her about her recurring nightmares in which she dreamed of a wounded Robin as he lay in a huge pool of blood. Guy climbed to his feet and bowed to the monarch; then, without another word, he stalked out of the room, leading Marian behind him.

They left the king’s private chamber and descended the staircase. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Marian abruptly stopped and gasped as a searing pain twisted her belly, bringing a violent sense of nausea, and it was so very difficult to breathe. She would have lost her footing if Guy didn’t support her.

A scared Guy slithered his arms around Marian’s waist. “Marian, what happened?”

“Lady Marian, are you alright?” Roger de Tosny asked with concern.

Marian was quiet for a while, her heart beating wildly. The pain lessened slightly, and she drew a shallow breath. “I am feeling better now. I don’t know what happened.”

“Can you walk, Marian?” Guy continued supporting her.

She nodded. “Yes, I can,” she rasped. “I am fine now. Let’s go.” She didn’t know what had just happened to her, but now she again felt better. There was a pain, but not from a wound: her bleeding heart was hurting because Robin was dead.

Nobody of them could know that somewhere in the depths of the desert, rather far from Acre, a middle-aged Saracen woman sat near a makeshift bed, looking sadly at the young sandy-haired man, who was slowly writhing in the throes of fever and agony. The woman’s heart was fraught with sorrow and fear because she wasn’t sure that the man would see another day. The man's life was hanging in the balance, and it seemed that only a divine intervention could save him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The triangle Robin/King Richard/Guy has been resolved. The mysteries are unveiled.
> 
> I tried to make Guy's meeting with King Richard interesting and realistic. Richard cannot be happy to see Guy; he cannot just pardon Guy and embrace him as an old friend. Richard’s attitude towards Guy is cold and harsh, and at times he cruelly mocks Guy; he loathes Guy for what he did to him and Robin.
> 
> Writers often make Guy pardoned by King Richard easily, which is unrealistic. Richard cannot just pardon Guy without a reason. Theoretically, even if Guy and Robin survive the siege of Nottingham in S3 and then fight for Richard while he is in captivity, there is a high probability that the king won’t pardon Guy; regicide is a grave crime. Guy attempted regicide twice and killed Marian in canon, while no king looks positively at those who try to kill him. Guy could have been executed even after the king’s return.
> 
> In this story/novel, Guy is pardoned by the king because of Robin's deathbed plea. King Richard will not forget about Guy's debt to him: Guy will have to prove his loyalty to the king. Now Guy knows the secret of Robin's true parentage, a bloody secret: mysteries of the past tie Guy to Richard and the Plantagenet royal house. The knowledge of this secret not only frees Guy from demons but also traps him because Richard is not going to forget about the dangerous revelation. The king will do anything in his power to ensure that nothing ever slips from Guy’s tongue. Don’t worry: Guy is not going to die.
> 
> I was asked many times in private messages and in reviews why I killed off Robin. So why did Robin need to become the main victim in regicide? Firstly, Robin's death is always an overdramatic event, and I thrive in drama and tragedy. I needed to find a good way to resolve the lethal triangle Robin/King Richard/Guy. Robin's death is also a great catalyst for Guy's redemption in the context of this story/novel.
> 
> I want to say a few words about Guy's redemption. I've always believed that Guy needs to be broken completely before he is ready for redemption. Why does Guy need to be broken? Because Guy is not as strong and willful as Robin, and he cannot just break from darkness until something goads him into doing it. Unfortunately, Guy can become his own savior only after he destroys someone he loves, or if something tragic pushes him to change. In canon, Guy murdered Marian in a fit of a jealous rage, and the guilt over taking her life tormented him in S3.
> 
> In this story/novel, Marian's death at the hands of Guy or death of any other character, excluding Robin’s, would have never become an effective catalyst for Guy's redemption. Now, as all the mysteries are unveiled, Guy's world is completely broken because everything he did after meeting with Vaisey ultimately had no sense. I deliberately introduced the storyline that Vaisey had once been Ghislaine's suitor and had been rejected by her: the sheriff is guilty of making King Henry believe that Guy is not his son, so Vaisey's wickedness is the primary reason for Guy's further misery. Later, Vaisey forces Guy to work for him in Normandy. In later chapters, you will see how broken Guy is as he hits the rock bottom.
> 
> Is Robin really dead? Truth be told, I thought that you would take notice of some clues. Robin wasn't buried and was lost in a sandstorm; Archer was lost with him. Moreover, there is the description of visions in Robin’s dying brain: he sees the light of heaven and flashbacks of his past, and he hears the voice talking to him, which actually is a clinical death. When Archer woke up in the desert and noticed that Robin's skin was hotter than his own, it meant that Robin was already feverish. Archer also took Robin to a cave, where they were protected from the sandstorm, so their survival looks realistic.
> 
> I added one paragraph in the end of the chapter to give you a glimpse of Robin. I felt you needed that because many readers failed to figure out my trick, although some guessed correctly. Robin will reappear in several chapters. So far we don't need him.
> 
> Chapters 8, 9, and 10 are the culmination of this story.


	10. Grief

**Chapter 10**

**Grief**

Sir Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester, appeared in the corridor, heading to the king’s private chambers, and Sir Roger de Tosny bowed to him. Leicester’s expression turned into disdain as soon as he saw Guy and Marian behind Roger; then Robert turned his gaze at de Tosny.

“I am still mentally in Imuiz. I cannot forget… what happened there,” the Earl of Leicester said.

“I understand,” Roger de Tosny answered. “I still cannot believe that Robin is gone.”

The Earl of Leicester looked solemn, his eyes vacant and dull, and only his boyish features made him look similar to a cheeky rogue. He was stunningly handsome in his high black leather boots, black silk tunic, and black flat pants; the collar and the sleeves of his tunic were trimmed with delicate black Venetian lace. A golden scimitar hung at his waist enveloped with a beautiful belt jeweled with emeralds; it was King Richard’s gift on his last birthday.

Marian eyed Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester. Her mind raced through the memories of the past, and she remembered, now much better, Robert from the times when she met him at the royal court in Poitiers. He was like Robin – the heir to the Earldom of Leicester, a young lord as handsome, rich, charming, spirited, mischievous, and outspoken as Robin; he had become Richard Plantagenet’s grand favorite and close friend earlier than Robin met Richard.

Leicester studied Marian, his expression cold, as well as full of himself and very haughty. His eyes were pale green, but they were darkened with fury at the sight of Guy of Gisborne. Despite his angry expression, Leicester reminded Marian of the better times and of Robin, for he was Robin’s best friend among the nobility and Robin’s copy in many aspects; he was even Robin’s coeval.

Guy examined Leicester with interest. He had heard so much about the man and had once been the lover of his elder sister, Lady Amicia de Beaumont. He thought that Leicester looked like a courtier in mourning, not like a Crusader. Leicester was so handsome, so elegant, so perfumed that it was hard to believe he could use even a knife, all the more slaughter the Saracens. Yet, King Richard himself praised Leicester’s brilliant skills with a sword and called him the best swordsman in Christendom.

Leicester turned pale as death. “I would have done everything to swap places with Robin.” His voice took a lower octave. “But I wasn’t there to save Robin and the king.”

De Tosny sighed heavily. “Robert, please don’t blame yourself.”

“A part of me died together with Robin.” Leicester’s gaze was the gaze of a wounded animal preparing for death. “I don’t know how to live after his death.”

"You will find a way," de Tosny. “Robin will always be in our hearts.”

The Earl of Leicester shook his head. “I have only King Richard now. I will live only for him.”

“Robert, King Richard has always loved you more than anyone else, excluding Robin. Now he has only you and he needs you a lot,” de Tosny said sympathetically. There was no envy or jealousy in his voice; he only acknowledged the fact.

“I know.” Leicester nodded. “I am trying to be with him as much as I can. He really needs me now.” He paused, sighing heavily. “But we will have to part our ways for a while because I have to go to Normandy to lead the army against King Philippe’s troops.”

“The king has already told me the same,” de Tosny confirmed.

“I know,” Leicester notified.

“Are you going to the king, Robert? He is feeling unwell,” de Tosny announced.

“The king’s page visited me ten minutes ago. King Richard asked me to come to his chamber,” Leicester answered. “I am doing what my liege ordered me.”

De Tosny felt uncomfortable. “Of course, Robert.”

The Earl of Leicester turned his gaze at Guy and Marian. “Guy of Gisborne,” he spat. If looks could kill, his face would have done exactly the same to Guy.

Guy steeled himself against the man’s contempt and hatred; he bowed deeply, showing his courtesy. “Lord Leicester, I trust you are doing well,” he said coldly.

"Gisborne, you are wearing black! Are you in mourning for Robin?” Leicester asked contemptuously, his eyes darkening. "Admit truthfully that you are not in mourning. You wear black because Lord Vaisey demanded that from you so long ago.”

"Black is not his color. He will change his style soon,” Marian hurried to say.

The Earl of Leicester eyed Marian, then turned to Guy. “Gisborne, you must be happy now when Robin is dead,” he said with such chilliness in his voice that everyone’s blood ran cold.

“Believe me or not, but I am not pleased that Robin is dead,” Guy parried. He said the truth, but he knew that Leicester would never believe him.

“Hah,” Leicester barked. “Have I gone mad that I hear these words from the man who tried to kill my best friend so many times?” He started applauding, his expression changing into sheer contempt. “Bravo, Gisborne! You are lying so well, but I see what you have beneath your face; I see what you represent – the inky darkness and sheer evil which lived in your heart since your early youth.”

“Lord Leicester, please be courteous towards Guy,” Marian asked politely.

Leicester scanned Marian. "That's none of your concern, Lady Marian of Knighton.” He pointed a finger at Marian and Guy. “You brought only misery into Robin’s life and finally killed him! Do you want to hurt someone else, Sir Guy and Lady Marian?”

“Robert, please control your temper,” de Tosny requested.

Leicester ignored de Tosny’s pleas; he stared stonily at Guy, his gaze radiating hatred. "I would have killed you, Gisborne, if Robin hadn’t beseeched the king to pardon you before he… died.” He swallowed hard. “But if there is God in the world, you will be tormented until Judgment Day.” His gaze shifted to Marian. “As for you, Lady Marian, I can only say that you deserve only cold disdain.”

Roger de Tosny glanced away. Marian shuddered in shock. Guy cursed under his breath. Leicester drew himself up with the bearing of one of those high-and-mighty nobles whom Guy loathed; his arrogance and righteousness also was the feature he had always despised in Robin.

"If you dare do something to Marian, I will kill you," Guy hissed in a low, threatening voice. "You are an arrogant, spoiled brat, who sees nothing behind his own nose.”

Leicester laughed cynically. “Gisborne, you always said the same about Robin, didn’t you?” He laughed again. “Blah-di-blah-di-blah, you are so stupid, Gizzy. If you want to fight with me and win, you should take more lessons of swordplay, you incompetent idiot.” He parodied the sheriff, knowing from Robin how Vaisey had always humiliated his henchman.

Guy seethed with anger. “Lord Leicester, you are… you are…” Words struck in his throat.

“Robert, please leave,” de Tosny admonished. “We don’t need a scandal.”

Marian felt her stomach lurch in anger. “Lord Leicester, where did you get your manners? You look like a courtier, but speak like a naughty boy,” she snapped wrathfully.

Leicester put a right hand on the hilt of his scimitar, expression angry, but he controlled his temper. “Lady Marian, before you tell me anything, you must look at yourself.”

“Robert, stop!” de Tosny begged, almost in despair. “Don’t let your grief cloud your judgment!”

Leicester measured de Tosny with a scornful look. “Where are your true allegiances, Roger? I know that you are siding with this traitor because he served you many years ago in Normandy.” He shook his head. “Your captain is dead because of him, and you don’t care.”

“I care, Robert. I do–” de Tosny was interrupted.

“Liar,” Leicester spat. He took a deep, steadying breath as he folded his arms over his chest to cover his trembling. “My best friend, my… beloved Robin, is dead! He was more than my brother! I would have died… for him, but he… is already dead!” His voice was cracking. “He is dead… because of the Black Knights, like Gisborne, and I will gladly kill each of them to avenge Robin’s death!”

Marian and Guy were shocked with the colossal amount of raw pain in Leicester’s eyes. Great grief showed in his face: he looked like a grief-possessed man in a grim, unholy light. Giving them a quick, hateful glance, Leicester fled the corridor, disappearing in the tower where the king’s chambers were.

“I am sorry for Robert,” Roger de Tosny broke a long silence. “I am very sorry.”

“Lord Leicester has gone mad… with grief,” Guy commented dryly, not quite caring about the man.

“Robert is not himself,” de Tosny explained grimly. “Robert’s friendship with Robin is famous. They were always together, always at the front of the events, always sacrificing everything for our king and England, always saving each other, always understanding even subtle changes in each other’s moods.”

“I understand his grief.” Marian’s expression was detached.

“Let’s go,” Guy barked, struggling to suppress his anger.

They walked in silence through another corridor. As they turned around the corner and passed another corridor, they unexpectedly stumbled into Sir Roger de Lacy, Baron of Pontefract, who was obviously heading to the king, like the Earl of Leicester.

De Lacy was dressed not like a Crusader, but like a man in mourning, like the Earl of Leicester: he wore a simple black doublet of black brocade, black flat pants, and a silk black shirt. He looked like a tragic hero, his sharp and dark handsomeness making him even more dangerous than Leicester looked. There was a jeweled belt around his waist, with a scimitar sheathed in a golden scabbard. Wearing jeweled belts was Aquitanian fashion, which both Leicester and de Lacy preferred.

Roger de Lacy stopped and stared at Guy of Gisborne, his cold green eyes blazing with hot anger and festering hatred. Marian involuntary recoiled from de Lacy, Guy blanched, and de Tosny only let out a sigh of frustration.

Roger de Lacy put a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Gisborne,” he spat the name. “Still alive?”

Guy stared at de Lacy unflinchingly. “Monsieur de Lacy, I am glad to meet you,” he answered politely, struggling with all his being not to lash out at the younger man. “King Richard pardoned me.”

De Lacy glared at Guy. "I think you are getting far too excited about being pardoned by King Richard,” he said harshly. “You should be in the chapel, trying to pray to God for the souls of the innocent people whom you killed in cold blood, like that poor boy, Kate of Locksley’s brother.” He laughed cynically. “You should pray for Robin whose request on the deathbed saved your life.”

De Tosny was silent, knowing that he would be unable to calm down Roger de Lacy. De Lacy was even more intemperate than King Richard, and when he was angry, he was really dangerous.

“Sir Roger, please respect Guy,” Marian said seriously. 

“Marian, keep silent. Please stay out of this,” Guy warned, his eyes darkening with rage. “What do you want to prove, Monsieur de Lacy? You think that aggression may take away your pain for Robin’s loss?”

De Lacy was shaking with anger; his fingers clutched the hilt of his scimitar. “Robin of Locksley, Robert de Beaumont, Legrand de Walcott, Roger of Stoke, and I were friends since we had met each other on the knighthood training in Aquitaine many years ago.” He paused and swallowed hard. “How many of us are still alive? And how many of us died because of the Black Knights?”

A long silence reigned. For an endless amount of time, Roger de Lacy and Guy of Gisborne stared at one another, silent, hateful, and angry. Marian and Roger de Tosny were simply quiet; a minute passed, and they still stood perfectly still, staring at de Lacy and Gisborne.

Guy sighed, understanding where de Lacy was going with his almost direct accusations. His nerves were rattled. “You want to tell me that I am guilty of their deaths?”

De Lacy gave a nod, his eyes burning with a peculiarly hateful glow. “You killed Roger of Stoke. Your friend Peter Vaisey killed Robin of Locksley and Legrand de Walcott,” he hissed. “Do you think that I can forgive and forget about that?” He smiled morbidly. “I loved Roger of Stoke and Legrand de Walcott, but I loved Robin and love Robert more than them.”

“We are also mourning for Robin,” Marian broke in.

De Lacy’s dark brows furrowed. “I remember you, Lady Marian, when I met you at the court in Poitiers, before King Richard’s last war with King Henry.”

“You remember me?” Marian was curious.

“I do,” de Lacy said huskily. “You were betrothed to Robin at that time when you and your esteemed father came to the royal court in Poitiers.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Robin was in love with you, my lady, but Robert and I told him that you would be unable to make him happy.”

Marian decided to ignore his disrespect. “Lord de Lacy, I remember you as well. You were the young man who played chess with Robin in his bedchamber when once I came there.”

“Exactly, my lady,” de Lacy acknowledged. “It was a large and gracious bedchamber with the lofty ceiling which seemed to open on an Olympian expanse of blue and white clouds.” He smiled as he saw the light of recognition in her eyes. “I see that now you remember how we met for the first time.”

“Yes.” Marian nodded.

De Lacy pointed a finger at Guy. “The hands of this traitor are in the blood of my friends! He will never wash away their blood!”

“Roger, you are better to go where you were heading,” de Tosny intervened.

“I know what I am doing,” de Lacy hissed.

“We should go before anger overwhelms you, Monsieur de Lacy,” Marian snapped. “Guy has changed. He has become a better man.” Her eyes sparkled. “He tried to save Robin from the sheriff, but we stood too far from them and Guy was injured by his own sister.” She grimaced. “But you don’t want to see more than there is at the surface, Monsieur de Lacy?”

“I agree. We should go,” Guy’s voice resonated.

“Bah!” Roger de Lacy mocked, applauding. “You want to go and live a happy life! I say No!” He was immensely angry. Bloodlust gripped his heart and he decided to kill Gisborne; he drew his scimitar.

Guy drew his broadsword. If the man was so determined to kill him, he would defend himself. He was an excellent swordsman, probably not as great as Robert de Beaumont and Roger de Lacy, as well as Robin of Locksley, but he was capable to give de Lacy a good fight.

Uttering some words of violence, Roger de Lacy strode forward and lashed out his silver scimitar in front of the older man. “I will kill you, Gisborne.”

Marian hurled herself in front of de Lacy. "What are you going to do? I beg you, Sir Roger, please stop! You cannot kill Guy! Robin wanted Guy to live and be pardoned!”

"If Gisborne stays alive, he will kill someone else," de Lacy said coldly, pushing Marian away. "I am not going to risk the lives of others. Robin was too generous to his enemies.”

De Tosny stepped between Marian and de Lacy. “Roger, please don’t create deplorable incidents now.”

"If I let Gisborne live, I must take his sword arm, so that he cannot take a sword anymore,” Roger de Lacy announced; anger and hatred had overpowered him. “I hate him, but I can settle for merely cutting out his tongue and chopping off his hand.”

Marian stared at de Lacy in horror. “No, you must be joking.”

Guy pushed Marian away. “Lord de Lacy is serious,” he said, knowing that the other man would gladly kill him on the spot. “After all, he became the infamous murderer after the massacre of Acre.”

De Lacy’s flashing eyes seemed to grow angrier and harder. “You want to say that King Richard is a murderer after he has pardoned you today, don’t you?” His voice was shaking with anger.

Guy realized his mistake, but it was too late. “I didn’t mean that.”

“You meant exactly what you said.” It was the moment of righteous anger for de Lacy. “You will pay.”

Gritting his teeth, Roger de Lacy pushed Marian away so hard that she staggered backwards and almost fell to the floor. Marian was lightheaded and lost her balance, supported by Roger de Tosny.

De Lacy gave an inhuman way cry and lunged at Guy with utmost despair and ferocity. Guy blocked an overhead blow, but de Lacy lunged at him with another sophisticated blow – an overhead blow transforming in a crisscross blow at the level of Guy’s chest. Guy barely managed to duck and save his life. De Lacy then grew furious and made a new assault.

Guy of Gisborne and Roger de Lacy traded fierce blows. De Lacy span and swung his scimitar in a circular blow, but Guy parried another blow, raising his sword and stabbing at de Lacy with a diagonal blow. But de Lacy blocked the blow and lunged at Guy again. De Lacy was too adroit and too quick, too fierce and too skillful with a sword, his fighting style quite similar to Robin’s, apart from Robin’s more gracious and more beautiful blows, as well as Robin’s extravagant swirls.

“Stop! Please stop!” Marian pleaded.

“Roger and Guy, stop right now!” Roger de Tosny asked, trying to knock some sense into their heads.

“I didn’t attack him! I didn’t want to fight with him!” Guy shouted as he barely twisted his body to avoid the blade, and his rival again lunged quickly.

 “You are a coward, Gisborne!” de Lacy shrilled as he made an elegant spin and then raised his scimitar to make an overhead blow, but Guy blocked it. “You can win a fight only when you stab from the back like you stabbed Robin in the Saracen attack and then almost killed the king!”

De Lacy and Gisborne circled each another. With a loud scream of a madman, Roger de Lacy swung his sword in a deadly arc. As the swords crossed, de Lacy lunged at Guy with a crisscross blow, and then Guy’s sword dropped from his hand. De Lacy kicked Guy in the stomach, and Guy tumbled to the floor.

“No!” Marian screamed in horror, rushing to them.

“Roger, stop!” de Tosny shouted.

Their loud screams drew the occupants of the neighboring rooms into the corridor. Several Crusaders appeared in the corridor, looking at the scene unfolding before their eyes.

De Lacy raised his scimitar above Guy, preparing to strike a fatal blow. “Die now, bloody traitor!”

Guy thought that the man would kill him now, but instead no blow followed. He saw Marian throw herself at de Lacy and punch the enraged man on the nape of his head. De Lacy looked at Guy with deadly hatred in his eyes, but his vision was blurred. Guy watched Roger de Tosny drag de Lacy from him, and then his gaze stopped on Marian’s frightened face.

Marian felt lightheaded from exhaustion and nervousness. She was shocked with what Roger de Lacy caused in an outburst of anger. The young Norman lord indeed had a hellish temper.

Guy scrambled to his feet. “We should go.”

“I hate you, Gisborne! I will avenge Robin’s death!” Roger de Lacy bawled out as several Crusaders were dragging him away from the corridor into another corridor.

§§§

Gisborne saw de Tosny’s apologetic eyes, and he nodded at the man, silently thanking him for the interference and knowing that Roger would take care of his fuming comrade. De Tosny excused himself and walked away, determined to just look to it that nobody would try to take Guy’s life again.

“Roger de Lacy has an awful temper. You were almost killed by him,” Marian said quietly, looking in the direction where the Crusaders had disappeared.

Guy shrugged helplessly. “He is known as a hellish warrior.”

“He should have controlled himself,” Marian opined.

Suddenly, Guy looked pitiful. “But I cannot ignore the fact that three people out of his best friends are dead.” He sighed. “And I murdered Roger of Stoke.”

“I wasn’t aware that you had murdered Roger of Stoke before you confessed to the king.” The blood rose in Marian’s veins at the thought of another man killed by Guy, another Robin’s friend.

“Did you know him?” Guy inquired.

She looked at Guy, a wide, ingenuous smile on her face. “Yes, I did. I knew Roger of Stoke very well, much better than I have ever known Robert de Beaumont and Roger de Lacy. He was a good man, and he came to Huntingdon and Locksley rather often.” She glanced away. “Roger genuinely liked me, and he was happy when Robin proposed to me and I accepted; I mean his first marriage proposal.”

Suppressing an irritated sigh, Gisborne shot a stern glance at her. “And now you will blame me for his death like de Lacy and de Beaumont blamed me, won’t you?”

"Yes, well, I can use many magic tricks on you from now on and blame you for many things.” She looked at him questioningly. “But isn’t that enough that you blame yourself?”

Guy looked troubled. “Yes, I do blame myself.”

Marian’s face hardened. “Now I know that you tried to kill Robin on the night of the Saracen attack.”

Guy didn’t reply, and Marian looked at him with cold disdain before her expression softened a little. Then she tugged at his sleeve, signaling that they should go. The Citadel of Acre was quiet and empty at that late hour. They walked through endless corridors as Guy was no longer a prisoner and could freely move within the walls of the castle.

Marian and Guy went to the courtyard, passed it, and then entered another tower. The torches of the guards resembled smoky flame in the darkness as they patrolled the area along the battlements. They moved in the labyrinth of dim corridors, praying that they wouldn’t lose their way. Soon they stood near the door of Guy’s bedchamber, in the corridor.

Guy looked at Marian in anticipation, while she stared broodingly into the dancing yellow flames of the torches. “I am relieved that it is over.”

Marian eyed Guy. “How are you now, Guy?”                                                             

Guy swallowed audibly. “I am happy to be alive. Roger was right: Richard is craving for vengeance.”

“Guy, you are sworn to King Richard now. He pardoned you and asked nothing in return.”

His upper lip curled with some contempt. “I am sure that the king will never forget that I am in debt to him.” He smirked. “He can ask me to do everything to prove my loyalty.”

“And you will have to obey his orders to keep your head,” Marian said shortly.

Guy rubbed his temples. “I will do that, but I hope that he will leave me in peace now.”

“I have an impression that he is going to do exactly that.” 

“So it seems. But he can always change his mind.”

“You mean that he can use you for his purposes,” Marian said bluntly.

“Shhh,” Guy whispered, putting a finger to her lips. “I bet there are many spies here.”

Marian turned her gaze at Guy. “The king,” she broke a long silence.

Guy arched his dark brows. “What?”

“He knows so many intimate details about your mother’s affair with Sir Malcolm,” Marian stated.

“Yes,” he concluded. “I believe that he didn’t tell us everything he knows. But asking him again will be equivalent to signing our death warrant.”

Marian swallowed, but the intensity of the emotions was almost overpowering her. “Do you think that he was serious… when he warned us about the consequences if we don’t keep silent?”

Guy shook his head. “The king was deadly serious. It was not a joke.” He sighed. “We must never talk about it with anyone else. Otherwise each of us dies a premature death.”

She nodded. “I understand. But otherwise we are not in danger, aren’t we?”

Guy laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “No, we are not,” he confirmed. “It is clear that the king is a man who keeps his word. Yet, if he is in an ugly temper and we are at fault, he won’t want to see our faces at his court.” His words were a lame attempt to joke.

“I have no doubt that the king’s temper can send anyone to the gallows.”

Guy sighed, and his sigh contained a curse. “The king is a powerful monarch. He can do whatever he wants,” he said somewhat tersely. “And I had a feeling that the king despises me.”

“King Richard has nothing to love you for,” Marian opined. “After all, you tried to kill him, twice.”

“I know. Our liege will never be fond of me.” The feeling that his newly found half-brother despised him was not a pleasant thing at all.

“Guy, if you are loyal to the king, he will keep his word. You will be free from retribution.”

“Yes.”

“Yet, the king was really harsh to you on some occasions, and so was Lady Melisende.”

“It is good that you were silent.” Guy leaned forward, closer to her. “Speak quieter please, Marian. It is better to be safe than sorry.”

“I know.”

“King Richard liked you very much,” Guy supposed, with a little smile on his pale face.

“He liked me? Are you kidding me?” She laughed bitterly. “I hurt Robin, and he loves Robin so much.”

“No, I am serious. Your relationship with Robin is not the reason of his attitude to you, for he seems to be a very rational and clever man. He really liked you and was impressed with you, Marian.”

“Oh, don’t exaggerate, Guy.”

“I am stating the truth.”

“Are you still thinking about Robin Hood?”

Marian turned her gaze at him with a silent note of accusation in her sharp gaze. “Yes. I cannot forget Robin. He could have been alive now if some things had been different.”

Guy sighed. “I won’t pretend that we couldn’t have avoided his death. I regret his death.”

“We could have saved Robin,” she stated.

“We could do nothing, Marian. Hood… Robin jumped between King Richard and his own blade in the sheriff’s hand, and Vaisey murdered him.”

Marian speared him with a look. “You should have killed the sheriff when I asked you. Then Robin would have been alive now.” She could barely bring herself to look at him; she was angry with Guy.

“You are so angry with me?” He paled, astonished at the depth of her disappointment in him.

“I am angry with you. I am angry with Isabella. I am angry with the whole world.” She looked at him, tears shimmering in her eyes. “But most of all I am angry with myself.”

“Marian, you are not guilty of Robin Hood’s death,” Guy hurried to say aloud. “King Richard is right. It was a tragic concourse of circumstances.”

Marian glanced right into his eyes. “I meant something different.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “I am ashamed of all my lies and confusion.” She took her hand away. “I had to be honest with Robin and you, but I chose to keep silent.”

“Do you still love Robin?” he asked hoarsely.

“I am very tired. I prefer to retire for the night. Goodnight,” she said dismissively.

Guy sighed heavily. “Goodnight.”

Without giving him a backward glance, Marian walked away and passed through the corridor, her light feet making almost no sound on the staircase that skirted a lush garden, the smell of blossoms heavy in the still air. The meeting with the king brought the memories of Robin and herself back with captivating sharpness, and she wanted to be alone in her grief. She didn’t need Guy; not now.

Guy tore his gaze from the end of the corridor where Marian had just disappeared. The events of the past days crushed him like an ant beneath a boulder. He wasn’t sure that Robin hadn’t taken Marian with himself to the underworld. There were no more mysteries and lies between them, but they had never been as distant from each another as they were now.

Once Guy had reached the sanctuary of his room, he found no peace. He threw himself down upon the softness of his luxurious bed, closed his eyes, and prayed for sleep, a slice of oblivion. Guy covered himself with a silk blanket, pressing one of the pillows to his chest; then he shut his eyes and drew a deep, deep breath. A sharp, tearing pain deep in his heart surged through him; his chest was heavy with naked anguish and guilt. He didn’t know where to run away from his pain.

His heart was overwhelmed with guilt. He had killed many people and had witnessed deaths of even more, but he had never felt as guilty of anyone’s death as he was currently feeling guilty of Robin’s death; hatred for the sheriff fomented in his heart with a new strength. Nothing could eradicate his guilt, and Guy finally realized that only the murder of Vaisey by his sword would be the right thing to do.

In his mind, Guy laughed almost violently. Marian’s fate was linked to his own fate and Robin Hood’s fate. He had hated and despised Robin; he had thought that the younger man had been nothing more than a vain showoff. He had believed that Robin had been a braggart interested only in himself and glory, as well as in the people’s love and adoration. He had been sure that Hood had never been able to feel as deeply as he could. Now he saw how grievously he had misjudged Robin of Locksley.

Interestingly, Guy thought that there was a sort of similarity between Robin and himself. Robin Hood could have been Guy of Gisborne, and Guy could have been Robin if their lives and choices had been different. And yet, it wasn’t true either because Robin and Guy were very different in many aspects. Guy was a dark character with flashes of humanity and light; Robin was a true hero with dark shadows. Guy was a tormented soul that must be guided to redemption. Robin also was a tormented soul in the way that he had to fight with his demons and the darkness which he was able to control very well.

Robin’s spirit was more rebellious, adventurous, and foolhardy than Guy’s. Robin was the savior of England, King Richard, and the people, and a fighter for justice. Guy had no ambitions to be heroic and famed for his good deeds, but he had hungry for power; he didn’t need glory to be content with his life. Heroic deeds, vain nature, and exclusive life path were the hallmarks of Robin Hood’s life. Robin possessed an idealistic nature, and he could have never been as practical as Guy was.

Guy was not a great man and a self-sacrificing hero like Robin Hood. He knew that Marian missed Robin’s heroics and shared his altruistic believes as she herself cared for the people very much. Guy believed that she wished to have an unusual, original life path, so different from a routine family life, which made her similar to Robin. But Robin was a man of state and duty, and his conflict of loyalties to England and his love was an unresolved one; it was not clear what he could choose in the end.

Guy and Robin were so different, and yet they were so similar. They could have been friends and even brothers if there had been no fire at the Gisborne Manor and if they parents had married. But they had become mortal enemies many years ago. Then their life paths had intersected again, and they had desperately tried to kill each other. Yet, in the end Robin Hood had become the very man who had pushed Guy to break free from Vaisey and become his own man, and Guy was grateful to Robin.

There was absolute mess in Guy’s head. He knew that his life had been full of lies and that Vaisey had been the reason of all the misery in his life. And there was the fact that probably Marian had never loved him as much as he wished her to love him. To his amazement, Guy felt tears welling into his eyes; he turned his face into his pillow and wept for the first time in many years.

§§§

Several days passed since King Richard had revealed to Guy the truth about his past. Since then, Guy was assailed by the guilt of his contribution to Robin’s death, which made him hate Sheriff Vaisey more than he had ever hated the evil man before. Every day, Guy awoke with the depressing feeling that he had failed to stop Vaisey and save Robin’s life and that he had served the very man who had disgraced his mother’s name in the eyes of his true father – King Henry II of England. The increasingly annoying sensation that he had to wait longer before he could kill Vaisey was growing every day.

The waiting time until Guy’s departure from Acre seemed endless. He would have left Acre the next day after the audience with King Richard, but the king’s order was to depart in three days and with the certain people in company. The atmosphere in the Citadel of Acre was gloomy, and everyone was still in mourning.

Guy rarely left his bedchamber because there were really few people who welcomed his presence and were kind to him; the majority barely tolerated him and waited for his departure. Roger de Tosny and Allan were the only two men out of many men around who were friendly with Guy.

Guy and Marian were distant from one another. Guy knew that Marian was grieving the loss of Robin in solitude. Yet, he also felt that Marian deliberately avoided his company. She was polite and kind to him, but she was emotionally estranged and lived in her own world focused on Robin’s death. She refused to move her things into Guy’s bedchamber after the king had pardoned him; she slept in a separate bedroom like she had done when Guy had been the king’s prisoner.

Guy was pleased that Roger de Tosny and Allan would accompany him on the way back to England. At least there would be someone who didn’t hate him. He could already imagine the scornful glances of Little John, who clearly despised Guy and still considered him the sheriff’s man. There was Much who hated Guy more than anyone in the world, excluding the sheriff. Guy anticipated his new meeting with Much with alarm, if not dread, understanding that their new confrontation was only a matter of time.

Marian kept herself in a distance from Much, Little John, Djaq, and Will, who were polite and formal but cold and unfriendly towards her. Once Marian met with Much in the corridor and greeted him, but he didn’t reply and instead said that he was saddened with the king’s order to travel to England on the same ship with Guy and Marian.  Another day, Marian came to Djaq to ask about Carter’s health, but the young Saracen doctor was not there and Marian had to spend some time with Will. Will asked Marian whether she was now happy that Guy had been pardoned, pointing out that Robin’s last request had saved Guy’s life, the life of the man who had taken Marian from Robin. It was enough for Marian and she decided to avoid the former outlaws.

Concerned with Carter’s fate, Marian visited Carter again. Unlike other wounded soldiers, Carter wasn’t brought to hospital and was kept in the luxurious chambers in the Citadel of Acre. The king’s personal physician and Djaq spent hours with the Crusader, trying to save his life.

On the way to Carter’s chamber, Marian stumbled into Guy, who asked her permission to accompany her; he wanted to use a chance and spent some time with her. Marian knocked at the heavy wooden door and opened it; Guy followed her.

The room was lit only by the flicker of a few candles near the entrance. They could see the table near the desk with bowls of water and fresh bandages. At first, they could hear only Carter’s labored breathing – a series of rattling gasps coming from the darkness on the far side of the room. Moving towards the sound, they saw Carter who lay on a large, canopied bed, with Much holding his hand.

Much turned his gaze at Marian and Guy, and a deep frown marred his forehead. “What are you doing here, Lady Marian? What is this man doing here?”

The first thing that Guy and Marian noticed was the color of Much’s attire – black. He wore a black tunic and black flat pants; his clothes were not adorned with jewelry, everything was plain and black. There was a strange black plume on Much’s head, not his old scarf he had usually wrapped around his head when they had lived in Sherwood. Much was a kind and sweet man by nature, but now he looked very dangerous; his appearance in itself was enough to bring terror to everyone’s heart.

“Much, we came to ask about Carter’s health. We didn’t know that you are here,” Marian explained, struggling to keep her voice neutral and herself outwardly calm. “How is Carter?”

“Barely alive,” Much replied, his eyes flying to Carter’s face. “He is feverish and unconscious.”

Marian shuddered in shock as she stared at Carter; Guy stood beside her, also stunned. Carter had always been a slender man, but the wound and the fever it had brought with it had drained his strength to the point where everyone could scarcely recognize the skeletal figure on the bed. Carter’s face was waxen, his eyes were closed. Were it not for the horrible rasping of his breathing, he would have seemed dead.

“Carter will recover,” Marian said confidently.

Much’s gaze was focused on the wounded man. “The physician and Djaq are not so sure that he will pull through. The blade barely missed his lunges, and it is a sheer luck that he is alive.”

Carter jerked up his head, and his eyes flung open. “Water,” he rasped. It was the first time after the regicide attempt when he regained his consciousness.

Much poured out a goblet of fresh water from the bowl which he had taken from the bedside table. His left hand lifted and supported Carter’s head, and he brought the goblet to the mouth of the wounded man. Carter slowly drank water, and then his head dropped on the pillow.

Carter moaned as he moved his body, his gaze focusing on Much’s face. At that moment, Carter’s face was paler than the white sheet he lay on. The high, noble brow was damp, the blue eyes fevered. His lips were dry and cracked, his features pinched with pain.

“The king,” Carter muttered.

“The king is alive. Robin saved him,” Much mumbled, his eyes filling with anguish and angst.

Carter smiled weakly. “Good.” He coughed. “Robin... always saves the king.”

“He did,” Much said quietly.

“Where is Robin? He will not come?” Carter’s voice was no more than a whisper.

“Robin… he… he…” Much stumbled with words.

Marian and Guy shared alarmed glances. Carter didn’t see them and even didn’t know that they were in the room; he was looking only at Much.

“Where is Robin?” Carter inquired.

“He is not with us,” Much said sadly, tears in his eyes and a curse between his teeth.

Carter clutched Much’s arm. “Not Robin…” He drew a deep, painful breath. “Tell me that he is… alive.”

Much shook his head, venting a loud groan of despair. “The sheriff killed Robin.”

“I loved… Robin. He was… my link to my brother, to Thomas. He gave me hope to live in that barn in Clun,” Carter murmured, tears coming to his eyes, his eyes fever-bright as the emotional pain and the physical pain from his wound troubled him again. But then a ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “At least he is in a better world. He is at peace. He is laughing at us from the wrong side of his face.”

Much squeezed Carter’s hand again. “You are not going to die. You will live, Carter.”

Carter laughed, bitterly and very quietly. “I don’t care if I die. The king is safe, and this all I care about. I will be with Thomas and Robin in death.” His eyes closed, and darkness claimed him.

“He passed out,” Much stated, wiping tears from his eyes.

“It is for the better,” Guy remarked.

“It is awful,” Marian murmured, swallowing the lump in her throat. “There is nothing holy in the Holy Land – death and bloodshed. I cannot understand why knights find glory in these lands.” She took a deep breath, her gaze turning completely blank. “Death is everywhere around us. Death is in the air.” She looked as pale as Carter at that moment.

“I once told you the same, Marian. It is a damned place, and there is nothing holy here,” Guy said.

“This is the only thing we have in common, Gisborne,” Much replied quietly. He shut his eyes for an instant. “We hate the Holy Land.” He sighed. “I have always hated this place. I stayed here only because of Robin. If not for him, I would have never returned to the Holy Land for the second time.”

Marian sighed deeply. “Did Robin hate the Holy Land?”

“Of course, he did hate this place,” Much retorted, his lip lengthening in a chilly smirk. “But you, Lady Marian, don’t know what Robin thought of the Crusade, do you?”

Marian shivered at the sight of the cold smirk on Much’s face. “No, I don’t. He never spoke about his time on the Crusade. He only told me once that there is no glory on the battlefield.”

“How little you knew of Robin, my lady,” Much replied, with a sarcastic grin.

Marian didn’t expect a new outburst of anger from Much. “Much, you will never stop despising me? Remember that we have grown up together. We were friends once.”

“And how do you want me to treat you, my lady?” Much hissed. “You caused Robin so much pain. You don’t deserve him!”

Marian looked shocked. “Much, please don’t say that!”

Much was growing angrier and angrier. He hated and despised everyone who had ever caused Robin pain. He didn’t want to live another day in the world in which Robin was dead. “Have you ever truly understood the grown-up Robin, Lady Marian?” he challenged. “My lady, you viewed him as a glory hound and a golden boy, and only then as a man who fought for his people.”

“Much, you are mistaken,” Marian countered.

Much tossed his head. “No, I am not wrong!” he shouted. “Robin had always guarded his emotions. But you were his fiancée, and you didn’t even try to look into his soul.”

Marian nodded with some reluctance. “Yes, I should have been more compassionate towards him, especially when he just returned from the Crusade.”

Much shook his head in disbelief. “Congratulations! You finally see your mistakes, Lady Marian!” He laughed. “I wanted to kill you when you pointed an arrow at Robin on the day of our return to Nottingham.” His eyes darkened with rage. “I wanted to shake you until you realized how normal people should greet soldiers who came back alive from the war.”

Guy’s eyes darted between Much and Marian. He was amazed with the new information about Marian and Robin he had just learnt. The selfish part of his ego was pleased with the revelation that she had been so cold with Robin on the day of his return, but the compassionate one was astonished with Marian’s harshness. Marian was so different from the image of an ideal proper lady he had created in his dreams; he had an ambiguous attitude towards the image of the real Marian, which his brain re-shaped after all the recent events and the truth about Marian’s relationship with Robin.

“I know how to behave,” Marian protested, getting angry. “I was angry with Robin because he chose glory and left me. How else could I meet him after his return? With open arms and a large smile on my face, running to him?”

“My lady, don’t exaggerate. Really, it doesn’t suit you,” Much recommended with a venomous smirk. “You could have been cold, but polite. Nobody asked you to run to Robin and profess undying love for him.” He smirked. “And what did you do to Robin? You were so angry that the harshness of your actions exceeded all norms of proper behavior.”

Marian raised her chin. “It is out of your business, Much!”

Guy’s eyes darted between Marian and Much; he was shocked where the conversation was going.

“No, it is not,” Much parried. “You almost married Gisborne after Robin had been outlawed and then he tried to show you that he still loved you. Then you gave hope to Robin and accepted his marriage proposal.” He narrowed his eyes at her, his entire being radiating anger. “Finally, you betrayed Robin.”

Marian stared at her childhood friend, hoping to make him more sympathetic. “Much, I wronged Robin, and I had no moral right to do that. But he also wronged me, though it doesn’t matter now. I can speak only for myself.” She sighed deeply. “I am ashamed of what I did to Robin. Probably, I will never forgive myself for the pain I caused him… and Guy.”

“Lady Marian, Robin forgave you. He didn’t hate you,” Much informed.

“He told me the same.” Marian looked down, tears splashing her cheeks. His forgiveness warmed and soothed; yet, feelings of bitterness and guilt didn’t evaporate.

“Robin never lied,” Much asserted.

"Much, Robin’s death has devastated me. It is an unbearable loss.” Marian felt a crushing pain building in her chest. “I would have willingly given my life for Robin, but I cannot do that.”

“Lady Marian, I believe you that you are mourning the loss of Robin,” Much said sincerely. “But it doesn’t mean that I have to be your friend again, like it was in childhood.”

Guy rolled his eyes, wishing to punch Much. Marian only sighed heavily, resigned to Much’s enmity.

“The Holy Land changes your perception of death,” Much said rhetorically, his expression amazingly calm and detached. “We spent so many years in the Holy Land that we got accustomed to death a long time ago. The clouds of dust, the clang of swords, the clamor of battle, and the smell of blood and death became a part of our lives. We can feel the odor of death in the air even when there is no death around; this odor is lingering.”

Marian shook her head as if confused. She had never seen Much so serious before; he had always been so simple and so talkative, complaining and whining, but now she saw another side of him – Much was greatly affected by the war. “I cannot imagine how you and Robin survived here, Much.”

Much’s face had a strange expression – despair mingled with resignation. “You will be unable to imagine that unless you spend here at least a year.  The more you are here, the less you fear death. And then you suddenly notice that you don’t fear death.”

“No fear at all?” Marian asked, amazed to the core.

In contrast to Marian, Guy understood that the Crusaders didn’t fear to die. He considered many of them fools doing a suicide mission – trying to liberate Jerusalem at any cost. Yet, a part of him still respected the Crusaders for bravery and fearlessness. Guy couldn’t say about himself that he was absolutely fearless to die, especially now when his conscience was so troubled.

“I am still afraid of death, but only a little, not as much as at the beginning of the Crusade,” Much responded truthfully. “Robin didn’t fear death. For him, death meant not only peace, but the glorious end of one life and the beginning of another life.” He chuckled. “Here, in the Holy Land, we were all playing with death, every day and every hour.” He paused for a moment. “But Robin was courting death. His war strategies were extravagant and risky, but well-thought and successful. The risks Robin took were on the verge of madness. Nobody, except for King Richard and the Earl of Leicester, could do what he did.”

“Did Robin use such risky tactics in Nottingham?” Marian was genuinely interested.

“Of course, not,” Much thundered. “If Robin had demonstrated in Nottingham everything he could do, many people would have died, and he didn’t want that.” He gave Gisborne a hard glare, then turned to Carter and spoke. “Robin invented many clever and risky plans to outwit the Saracens.” He smiled proudly. “Robin was a true genius of war, though he didn’t like it.”

“Robin played with death because he didn’t fear it,” Marian concluded.

Much smiled, sadly and wistfully. “During the siege of Acre, once I asked Robin how he was able to be so fearless in battles and risk so much even for the king. He laughed at me and said that if he could have dropped dead right now, he would have been the happiest man alive.”

Gisborne smiled. “Robin had a strange sense of humor.”

“He did.” Marian smiled vaguely.

“But there was much sense behind his dry humor,” Much interjected. “Robin didn’t fear death because he was sure that there was another life after death.” He emitted a rather mannered sigh and went on. “He believed that in that life there were no differences between religions – there was only one God, whatever we call him – Allah or Jesus Christ.” He smiled bitterly. “Robin often said that various religions are comedies played for an audience stupidly fighting for the land that belongs to everyone, while in reality the inventors of these religions only want to satisfy their hunger for power.”

“Interesting and unusual views for a Crusader!” Gisborne found out that he hadn’t known the grown up Robin of Locksley at all.

“It is true, though I am not sure that there is only one God,” Marian opined. “All wars are fought for power and lands.” Her expression turned wistful before becoming blank again. “I have never thought that Robin could be so philosophical. I saw this side of him on occasion, but it was so rare and he never explained why and how he felt about many things.”

Much walked away from the bed and stopped near the table. He took Robin’s unsheathed scimitar in his hands and stared at it for a long time. There was dried blood on the scimitar, Robin’s blood, and Much’s heart constricted in his chest at the memory of Robin’s demise in Imuiz.

Guy watched Much from a distance. His eyes narrowed as he saw that the man held Robin’s scimitar in his right hand. He thought that Much would probably try to kill him, like Roger de Lacy had tried to kill him the other day. Guy placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, prepared to defend himself.

“Much, what are you doing?” Marian broke a long silence. Mortal fear suddenly seized her at the thought that Much would attack Guy.

However, Guy and Marian were mistaken – Much wasn’t going to kill Guy. Much loathed and hated the man with all his heart, but he respected Robin’s last wish. “I am going to keep Robin’s scimitar always with me,” he said monotonously; he moved back to the bed, still holding the scimitar.

“Why?” Marian asked.

Much swallowed the bile in his throat; a taste of bitterness nearly choked him. “In this way, I will feel closer to Robin.” He sighed grievously. “I will use Robin’s Saracen recurved bow and his scimitar to fight with the Black Knights. I will kill them with Robin’s weapons.”

Marian nodded. “I understand.”

Carter stirred and groaned in pain. His eyes opened involuntarily a split second as pain slashed through him, and then they clenched shut tightly. His heart beating wildly in his chest, Much squeezed Carter’s hand, trying to give as much moral support to his dying friend as he could.

Much glared at Guy. “Gisborne, do you like what you see? You would be happy if one of us dies.”

“You are wrong. I hope that Sir Carter will live,” Guy replied sincerely.

“Too many people died because of the sheriff,” Much muttered.

“The sheriff is a monster,” Marian said between clenched teeth.

Much glared at Guy. “Gisborne, you are a monster too. You deserve a slow, painful death for all your heinous crimes.”

“Maybe you are right, and I deserve to die instead of Robin Hood,” Guy said unexpectedly. There was no violence in his face and his steel blue eyes – only vulnerability than evolved into blankness.

They heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor, and then the door opened.

“Nobody deserves to die. Only God can decide whose life to take and whose life to spare,” a firm voice spoke. “Life and death are in God’s hands.”

Listening to their agitated discussion from his position at the doorway, the Knight Hospitaller thought that it was his duty to interfere. He was a middle-aged man, his face long and wide jawed, clean shaven and angular; his brown eyes were deep set beneath black brows, slightly too close together. His mouth was wide and mobile, and his teeth, thanks to his good health despite his age, were even and almost white, showing up starkly against his tanned skin.

“There are no wiser words.” Marian eyed the intruder.

Much frowned.  “Who are you?”

“I am Friar Tuck,” the Knight Hospitaller responded. “I am taking care of Sir Carter.”

“Carter is an unfortunate victim of Vaisey and Gisborne!” Much bellowed as his temper flared up. He stepped aside from the bed and let his gaze linger at Guy, scornfully, and then he turned to look at the monk. “Friar Tuck, how can you know who deserves to die and who doesn’t? You are a man of God, but you still have so much blood on your hands that I don’t know how you sleep in the night.”

“Lord Much, you also have much blood on your conscience. You killed many Saracens and, I suppose, even guards in Nottingham when you were one of Robin Hood’s men,” Tuck pointed out, his tone calm.

Instead of being embarrassed, Much became angrier. “I have served in the king’s private guard for years! I have fought for England and for King Richard! I served Robin, my master and my best friend! My mission has always been to protect Robin and the King! I helped people in Nottingham and saved the lives of innocents!” He raised his tone. “Your mission, Friar Tuck, is to provide care for poor, sick or injured pilgrims in the Holy Land, but you still spilled a lot of blood in these lands!”

“Stop, Lord Much!” Guy’s voice rang sharp with rebuke. “Control yourself!”

“Much, shut up!” Marian shot the former manservant an irritated look, then turned to face Guy.

“Yeah, a scandal.” Guy turned away, not wishing to look at the enraged former manservant.

“No scandal at all.” Tuck didn’t look offended. “Lord Much, I think why you say that: perhaps you only shared with us Robin of Locksley’s thoughts.” He smiled tightly. “I don’t blame you for having such a low opinion about the Hospitallers, for there is a great truth in your words.”

Angry with himself for his disrespectful behavior, Much tore his gaze from the monk. “You are right. Robin thought so.” There was the furious glitter of tears in his eyes as he swung back to stare at Tuck, his arm gripping the hilt of Robin’s scimitar. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Apology accepted,” Tuck said softly.

Much turned his gaze at Guy. “I am sorry if I was harsh, but I will never like you, Gisborne.”

“Lord Much, I am not asking you to like me,” Guy snapped, irritated.  “You may believe me or not, but I do truly regret Hood’s… Robin’s death, and I don’t want Sir Carter’s death.”

“I can console myself only with the fact that Robin… saved our king and England,” Much murmured in a shaking voice. “When he was young, he wanted to die a glorious death, for the king. And he got what he wished.” He fought for control of his emotions, and once again he failed. “But we even don’t have his grave to come and pray for him. I pray they will find Robin’s body, and then we will bury him.”

“Life and death are God’s gifts. Nothing happens without a reason,” Tuck said meaningfully. “I have spent many years in the Holy Land. I have seen many deaths here.” He raised his voice. “But once there was the Knight Templar who was expected to die by everyone, but he fought fiercely for his life. He earned himself an undying reputation for futile bravery by refusing to let surgeons amputate his wounded arm when it was deemed to be gangrenous. The wound, it transpired, was merely infected, not gangrenous, and in time the knight regained almost full use of the limb.”

“What do you mean?” Marian asked, glancing questioningly at him.

Tuck looked very sly. “That Knight Templar was a warrior of God, and he survived and won the battle with death.” Having delivered his astonishing words, he watched them expectantly. “Sir Robin’s body hasn’t been found yet. Who knows why?”

“Good God!” Guy exclaimed in tones of angry exasperation. “What do you want to say?”

“Oh, not this!” Marian frowned in annoyance; she didn’t want to feed illusions in all of them.

“Nothing more than I have already said,” Tuck replied.

“Robin died as soon as he removed his scimitar out of his body. He was mortally wounded and had no chance to survive,” Djaq declared as she appeared at the doorway to the bedchamber.

Guy was stunned that Djaq, the Saracen woman, wore mourning colors like all the Crusaders.

Tuck shot her a sly look. “You seem to know everything, Mistress Djaq.” He spoke to her in a formal, a little sarcastic manner, for they didn’t like each other at all.

“And you seem to talk of the things you didn’t see, Friar Tuck,” Djaq parried. “You didn’t see how Robin was wounded, and you cannot doubt my word.” She sighed. “Marian, Much, and… Gisborne, please leave now. I am going to tend to Carter’s wound.”

Much nodded at Djaq and bowed slightly to Marian, a mocking bow, like Robin did to Guy when he had seen him in Locksley on the day of his arrival; then Much left without saying any other word. Guy tugged at Marian’s sleeve, motioning her to move, and they strode towards the door. In the corridor, Marian said farewell words to Guy and left to spend the evening in the seclusion of her chamber.

§§§

Marian ran through the corridors as fast as her legs carried her. As soon as she got to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her, she threw herself on the bed. Unable to keep her feelings under control anymore, she sobbed her grief into a pillow until her throat turned dry and she didn’t lose her voice.

An agonizing pain gripped her heart, squeezing it so tightly that she couldn’t breathe. It hurt her so much that Robin had left her and that she would never see his charming smile again. It hurt her that she would never tease him and advise him to grow up, and he would laugh at her in response, his entrancing, contagious laughter lifting her from the ground in the air and letting her fly through life like a light breeze, overcoming all their problems and hardships in such a Robin-like manner.

She was also guilty of lying to Guy about her real relationship with Robin, and that guilt suffocated her as much as her guilt of hurting Robin. Her heart was so full of pain and anguish that she couldn’t bring herself to make a step to Guy and help him deal with his own pain. She knew that her estrangement was causing him pain, but she was selfish and had no strength to help him when she herself was broken. Her entire heart was aflame with her own pain.

She had once been emotionally distant from Robin – after his return from Acre, punishing him for leaving her and for choosing war over his love for her. Now her emotional distance from Guy was as great as the distance between Nottingham and Acre. The thought of being alone seemed sweetly attractive for her tired and bleeding heart.

Marian wanted Robin to be alive. She wanted him to come and flash his cheeky smile for her. She wished Robin to laugh with her and whirl with her in a life full of thrilling adventures. It sounded like a steel-hearted mockery that she wanted Robin to be alive with all her heart but now it was impossible. Now she needed Robin more than she had ever needed him before, but she couldn’t have him.

Tears brimming in her eyes, Marian rose to her feet. She wasn’t going to leave her bedchamber today. She needed loneliness and privacy for her repentance and lonely atonement. She only knew that Robin was dead. She lost herself in the cobweb of pain, anguish, hatred, and love. She was lost. She was hurting. She was alone, and she liked her loneliness.

Marian was pulled out of her thoughts by a loud knock at the door. She didn’t want to see anyone, especially Guy. “Please, come in,” she permitted.

The door opened, and Allan appeared at the doorway. He entered the room and stopped near the door, his eyes surveying his surroundings and finally stopping on Marian. He gasped for air as he saw her: she lost much weight since the day of regicide in Imuiz, her paleness was extreme, and she looked like a ghost of a ghost in her black-and-gray gown. Yet, she was still beautiful, and nobody could deny that.

Allan’s heart was heavy since their arrival in Acre. The king was safe, but Robin was dead, and Allan cursed himself that he hadn’t taken Marian’s offer to kill the sheriff in Nottingham; at that time, he had been ready to laugh at her madness, but now he felt shame. Marian had been right that the sheriff must have been stopped in England: he himself must have murdered the man.

“How are you doing, Marian? Do you need something?” Allan asked politely.

Marian looked at Allan and her throat constricted. Allan’s words were quite a blow to her memories that her old friends were either indifferent or openly hostile towards her. Allan’s words also warmed her heart, for at least there were still some people who cared for her.

“I am fine, Allan. I will survive.” Her voice sounded unconvincing even for herself.

“You look ill,” Allan said directly. “Do you sleep well?

She glared at him, annoyed with him for asking such intrusive questions; but her expression quickly softened at the sight of his concerned face. “Of course, I don’t,” she answered sincerely.

Allan eyed her with careful scrutiny. “You don’t sleep because you are haunted by nightmares or are thinking of Robin’s death.” He drew a deep breath. “Am I right?”

“Yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but he heard it.

Allan came to Marian and knelt down to her. “Marian,” he began in a caressing voice, “like Robin, you have clear and rather rigid ideas about justice, about what is right and what is wrong.” He took her hand in his. “When you do something wrong, you blame only yourself. But the longer you sit here brooding, the more your grief settles inside your heart, like a plague that is slowly killing you.”

“I did many wrong things,” Marian said, looking into his eyes.

“But it doesn’t mean that you should kill yourself for that.”

She glanced away. “I am not killing myself.”

Allan turned her chin to him. “Marian, you are killing yourself by constant brooding and thinking of what would never happen now.” He managed a smile. “Like Robin, you take things more to heart than anyone realizes, and you try to cover your grief with a mask of coldness and hardness.”

“I will always remember Robin,” Marian whispered.

“And so will I,” he added.

“Everything that happened seems to be a fairy-tale or a ballad about Robin Hood.” She smiled sadly. “But life is reality. Life can be dark and cruel, and many people can have two faces. The façade is often a myth, and if masks are stripped, we can see something entirely new.”

“It is very true.”

She laughed tragically. “And in my case, you will see that I am dead inside.”

Allan wasn’t astounded that Marian was philosophical and contemplative at the moment; it often happened to him in the most difficult moments of his life. “I hope that time will heal your wounds.”

Marian returned her gaze to the window. “I doubt that.”

“Please take care of yourself,” Allan said as he rose to his feet.

“I will try,” Marian said, not really meaning it.

Allan only nodded wordlessly. He walked to the door and opened it, then stopped, casting a sidelong glance at Marian and then left. Unexpectedly, he stumbled into Djaq in the corridor.

“Djaq, can you please check on Marian?” Allan asked anxiously. “I am worried about her.”

“Of course, I will,” Djaq promised.

“She is suffering,” Allan said shortly. “She needs our help.”

“I will visit her now,” Djaq promised.

Allan smiled. “Thank you.”

Djaq nodded, then walked away, heading to Marian’s room. She knocked at the door and heard the permission to come in. She smiled kindly at the sight of stubborn and fireless Marian who turned red, then pale, and began to tremble like a culprit before her. Though Djaq smiled at Marian, there was only sadness, for she could easily imagine how much Marian was suffering.

“Allan says that you are feeling unwell. What happened, Marian?” Djaq began.

“Nothing,” Marian returned with a wince as she hung her head.

“Please, don’t tell me that you have a sore throat, for it would be a simple lie,” Djaq said, growing visibly frustrated with Marian’s apparent lack of concern with her own fate.

Marian nodded. “Well, you see, I am a liar. But I am not going to lie more – I deceived enough people, myself in the first place.” She still didn’t look at Djaq. “My sickness cannot be cured.”

Djaq caught Marian’s eye. “Well, soon you will be unable to stand if you don’t sleep and eat.”

Marian took a deep breath, and looked at Djaq. “Can a broken heart ever heal?”

“It depends on how much it is damaged,” Djaq began philosophically. “At the moments of death, when a human being is passing to Heaven or to hell, he bequeaths what he feels in perpetuity to all other men, women, mothers, widows, or maidens, who should wish to pray for others or for themselves.” Her voice took a higher octave. “And Robin left a great legacy after his death, for he was a unique man, and his love for you is a part of that legacy.”

Marian swallowed her nervousness. “His love for me?”

“Exactly,” Djaq confirmed. “He loved you even after you had married Gisborne.”

She smoothed her hands over the front of her skirt. “But I betrayed Robin. I broke his heart.”

“I cannot judge you, but I still think that you did a wrong thing when you married Gisborne before breaking your betrothal to Robin,” Djaq said in a firm voice. “And yet, I can understand you.”

Marian stared at Djaq incredulously. “You can understand me?”

“Yes,” Djaq replied, smiling. Not a moment later, the corner of her mouth turned up in a wry grin. “Robin was a great man, and there are few people who can do what he achieved in his short life, but he was England’s man through and through. He was a difficult man for a marriage.” She chuckled. “I am not sure that I want to have a husband who saves everyone in the world and whom I have to share with England, the king, his friends, and everyone else who needs his help.”

Shocked, Marian trembled. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And you don’t loathe me, do you?” Marian said cautiously, her eyes full of hope.

Djaq’s expression softened. “I have no reasons to loathe you, Marian. I have always respected you, for you are a brave and interesting woman. Actually, you are much more interesting than I thought at the beginning.” She smiled kindly. “Everyone has a right to make mistakes. Everyone can be confused.”

Marian swallowed hard, and struggled to contain her composure. “Robin is dead. I cannot forget that. There is no way to correct the mistakes of the past, and I hurt him deeply.”

“You hurt him very much,” Djaq agreed. “But didn’t he ever hurt you enough?”

“Robin broke my heart when he chose to fight in the Holy Land,” Marian admitted. Her heart sank as she remembered the five years of constant prayers and mortal dread that he would be killed. “But he didn’t betray me. He fought for England and for King Richard because he was a man of duty and honor, and he just couldn’t do otherwise, though he also wanted glory.”

It was rather amusing to see Djaq at loss. “Marian, I think you that Robin fought in the Holy Land not only for England, for his king, and for glory.” She shook her head. “You still don’t understand him, but I don’t blame you – _Robin had many faces and always covered his real face with a mask_.”

“It was always difficult to understand Robin, but he became more reserved after his return from the Crusade.” Marian spared a grateful glance at the Saracen woman. “Robin was rarely frank with me and never completely frank. Pulling the truth out of him, including love confessions, was a difficult thing.”

“I know,” Djaq said, her voice gentler than Marian had ever heard it. “I talked to Robin about the Holy Land because I thought that he would open up to me because I am a Saracen who suffered from the actions of the Crusaders.” She sighed. “Yet, I failed – he refused to talk about the war even with me.”

“It seems that he talked to nobody,” Marian muttered under her breath.

“He talked to King Richard and the Earl of Leicester.”

“Naturally. He was very close to them.”

“Robin also talked to Much from time to time,” Djaq informed. “Much and Robin became closer after our arrival in Acre. Robin treated Much like an equal and was very considerate towards his friend.” She let out a tiny smile. “Much loved Robin even more than he had ever loved him before. They talked even about the Holy Land in the past months before… Robin’s death.”

“I am glad.”

Djaq sighed, thinking whether she needed to say some things, but then decided that she had to do that. “Much told me that Robin’s wife, Lady Melisende, quickly became Robin’s confident. Robin opened his heart to her as much as he had never opened it to any other woman.”

Marian raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Much said that.”

“I see.”  Marian turned toward the window, her expression wrought with pain.

“Marian, you must take care of yourself,” Djaq announced emphatically. “You can weep and curse in grief, but you must eat and sleep.” She extracted a small box with pills from the pocket of her tunic; then she approached Marian. “Take it and use it every evening. You will sleep better.”

The other woman took the box in her hands. “Without nightmares?”

“It depends on a dose. If you want a peaceful sleep, more oblivion than a sleep, then you should take two pills, but in this case you won’t awake for many hours.”

“I need just a calmer sleep.”

“Then take one pill. You will sleep better anyway.”

“Thank you,” Marian said with gratitude.

“Welcome, Marian,” Djaq returned with a smile. “Remember that Robin didn’t wish you to suffer. And he would never desire you to be alive but dead inside, living in a great grief for your penance.”

Marian smiled sadly. “Thank you, Djaq.”

As the door closed and Djaq went out of the room, Marian sighed with relief. She was finally left alone with thoughts and memories of Robin and their love story. She wanted to be alone. She needed nobody and nothing at that time. What she wanted to have she couldn’t have because Robin was dead.

As Djaq was gone, Marian started undressing herself, intending to spend the rest of day in the bed, dreaming to forget about the terrible reality she couldn’t accept. As she threw her last undergarment on the bed, she stood silent for some time, running her eyes over the room.

The chamber was as luxurious, like all other chambers in the guest quarters of the Citadel of Acre. Heavy walnut furniture stood upon a large Turkish orange and black carpet, and a large walnut bed with orange and gold drapes stood in the corner of the chamber. There were also several chairs scattered around the room, each of them covered with orange brocade. Orange, black, and gold tones rioted across the room interior in a bold design.

Near the undraped window that faced the seashore, there was a high-back armchair; the wood was painted with golden lions on a black ground. The seat was draped with black brocade ornamented with jewelry. Beside an armchair, there was a table covered with a cloth with a pattern of birds. The armchair was so magnificent that Marian wondered who used it before, thinking that it might have been the bedchamber that was once occupied by someone of a very high station.

Marian put on her blue brocade robe. Tears came to her eyes, and she blinked them away. "I suppose I can endure this grief. I will survive," she thought.

She went to the great armchair and seated there. She smiled at the pattern of birds on the cloth that covered the table – birds always reminded her of Robin. She was thinking of Robin and herself, remembering the day of her last meeting with Robin before his departure to the Holy Land, the happy moments of his two marriage proposals to her, their last conversation in Nottingham after her marriage to Guy, and the day of his tragic death in Imuiz. The memories were painful and sweet, and an explosion of pain consumed her, body and soul.

“Robin, we parted our ways on bad terms, and I broke our betrothal. I threw my engagement ring into your face, though I knew that I wronged you, and I wronged myself as well,” she thought. Fresh tears stung her eyes, and she brushed them away with the back of her palm.

Robin had never written to Marian during the long years of his absence in Nottingham, probably feeling that it was useless after their farewell. She had craved to have at least some news about Robin, hoping that the young fool hadn’t been slaughtered by the Saracens yet. From time to time, she had heard rumors that Robin had become one of the king’s chief generals on the Crusade and had achieved glory on the battlefield. Yet, there had been no accurate information about Robin’s fate – only rumors.

Once, Marian had learnt that the son of a local lord from Nottinghamshire had just returned from the Holy Land after he had been severely injured in a battle. The young man had attended the Council of Nobles, and after the meeting had been over, he had begun to talk about King Richard’s glorious Crusade. He had told the nobles many stories about the siege of Acre.

The young lord had admired King Richard’s war strategies and military talent, bravery and leadership. He had also spoken a lot about numerous fierce and bloody battles with the Saracens, complaining that the king’s men could have been attacked five or six times in a single day and that there had been times when they had fought on a not-stop basis for several days in a row. The young man had also lamented that the king’s troops had starved at the beginning of the long siege of Acre.

When Marian had almost lost all hope to hear something about Robin, the ex-Crusader had started bragging that he had served under Sir Robin of Locksley’s command for nearly two years. He had told many stories about Robin and his heroic deeds in the Holy Land. Marian had learnt that Robin had been appointed captain of King Richard’s private guard in the end of the first year of the Crusade. The same man had reported that Robin had become the legend of the Holy Land and had earned the reputation of the brave Captain Locksley, and that Robin's name had been spoken in those distant and mysterious lands with adoration, fascination, envy, respect, and fear.

The man’s war stories had sounded like something from the different world in Marian’s perception, but she had listened, eagerly and greedily, to every word the man had spoken about his commander. She had only smiled, thanking God that her former betrothed had been alive after four years of the bloody war in Palestine. The truth about Robin’s successful military career had burst through her with unrelenting anguish: he had deserted her for glory and had achieved it while she had led a lonely and miserable life under the brutal authority of Sheriff Vaisey.

Marian choked down the tears welling in her throat. “Robin, I was so jealous to your success in the Holy Land that I hated you even more. Here, in the Holy Land, you blossomed in fame, love, and adoration, while I was alone, unmarried and miserable, and I was waiting for you.”

Soon the sensational news had arrived from the Holy Land that the Crusaders had finally conquered Acre. Many soldiers died in the final battle for the capture of the city, and Marian had waited in dread for any news, fearing that Robin could have been killed. Instead, she had heard that Robin of Locksley and his close friends had been named Heroes of Acre. It had been proclaimed that King Richard had managed to capture Acre mostly thanks to Robin of Locksley and Robert de Beaumont, his best friend.

Marian looked into the window, her eyes taking in the yellow sandy coastline. “Robin, I was proud of you when I heard that you distinguished yourself so much in the siege and capture of Acre and that you did incredible things for the king,” she thought, blinking back tears. “But I would have never told you about that.” Her heart slammed painfully in her chest. “And I was so happy that you were alive.”

After she had heard about the capture of Acre, Marian had resigned herself to the fact that Robin wouldn’t come back home for a long time, always staying at his king’s side and protecting his liege. She had also become angrier, but any thought of Robin’s death had caused her monstrous pain. She prayed for his survival every evening while pretending during the daytime that she no longer cared about her former betrothed.

“I loved and hated you, Robin, but I loved you more,” Marian said aloud.

Robin had returned to Nottingham on a warm spring day, together with Much. He had unexpectedly appeared near the front steps of Knighton Hall. Marian had been shocked that he had looked very thin and clearly exhausted, but also too handsome and too young for a legendary Crusader hero. For a brief moment, when Robin had let his guard down, she had seen the gamut of emotions playing across his face – anguish, disbelief, amazement, bewilderment, relief, joy, merriment, and wistfulness. He had looked at Marian in adoration and fascination, but he had also been arrogant, smug, and so full of himself, thinking that they could have renewed their romance straight away.

His cockiness and arrogance had boiled her blood, and fury had clouded her judgment. Hot anger roiling out of her, Marian had grabbed her bow, determined to show Robin his place. She had run to the front steps, where Sir Edward of Knighton had stood talking to Robin. Then she had ordered Robin to go away in harsh tones, so harsh that she hadn’t expected such harshness even from herself. She had even threatened to shoot Robin if he hadn’t left Knighton! As she had slammed the door, Marian had heard Robin’s husky voice saying something about her unmarried status. She had realized that Robin had been relieved she had been still available for courtship.

Many extraordinary things had happened to Robin and Marian. Robin had openly defied Vaisey after the sadistic man had tried to execute four innocents, and then he had been outlawed and barely escaped from Nottingham to Sherwood. In the woods, Robin had quickly started his own gang of outlaws, doing everything to undermine the sheriff’s authority in the most undaunted and foolhardy ways.

Marian had been angry that Robin had forsaken the life of a wealthy nobleman, but she had also been proud of Robin because he had been the only man in England, who had found enough strength and courage to fight against tyranny and deal with the vile Sheriff of Nottingham. She had been cold towards Robin, but she had secretly envied his freedom in the forest, calling him a fool and never truly meaning it. She had feared that he would be captured and would end up on the gallows.

The August sun was sinking down the walls of Acre. Marian looked outside the window, into the gardens, letting her gaze travel further and embrace the sloping shore, yards of the desert sand, and the blue canvas of the sea. She watched the sun sinking down the water across the sky until it almost disappeared behind the horizon. With tears shimmering in her sapphire blue eyes, Marian looked like a Goodness of sadness, her features expressive and her tears luminous even in the bleak light.

Marian sighed, thinking about the Saracen attack when Robin had heroically saved King Richard’s life and had been almost fatally wounded. The Saracen attack had been the secret assassination attempt of the Black Knights on King Richard’s life, and Guy had almost killed Robin then. Marian hadn’t believed Robin’s accusations, thinking that he had been jealous. But Robin had told her only the truth, and now Marian felt ashamed that she had doubted Robin’s word. Robin had always been bluntly honest with her, even if his honesty hurt her, and she couldn’t say the same about herself.

Much had once informed Marian that Robin had barely survived his injury. Much had said that dying and feverish Robin had been calling for her, begging her to come and guide him to Heaven. She had been shocked beyond belief, and she had also been pleased that Robin had remembered her in the moments when he had been so close to death. She had been with Robin when he had been dying in Imuiz, but she doubted that he had been thinking only about her.

Tears trickled down her cheeks. “Then our relations improved. We worked together against Vaisey and Guy for England and the poor,” she thought. “Guy coerced me into our first engagement, but I ran away from the altar and joined Robin on his horse.” She smiled. “And then we rode to Nottingham to save my father from the sheriff. And since that moment, my heart began to melt for Robin.”

Marian thought about many events – about her first wedding ceremony to Guy, the disclosure of the sheriff’s treacherous plots against King Richard, her father’s death, Robin’s second proposal to her over a fresh grave, the fateful siege of Nottingham, and finally her marriage to Guy, as well as the betrayal of Robin and their love, and finally about Robin’s tragic death.

She stared into the window. The sun had already sunk, and the darkness descended upon the port of Acre. On the seashore, there was nobody lurking in the darkness. A great grief was etched into all her features, her eye became humid; her mouth contracted, and a moment later, she was again sobbing.

Marian took several deep breaths. She felt wretched. She had broken Robin’s heart, had shattered their dreams to be together, and had ruined her own hopes to live in harmony with herself. But she had also broken her own heart, and then Robin’s death had broken her. Her life resembled a frightful nightmare, but she wasn’t dreaming because her eyes were widely open and her brain was working.

Marian scrambled to her feet and walked to the bed. She sat on the edge, and her body shook in sobs again. She sobbed for an indefinite time and couldn’t stop, as if an invisible hand had lifted the weight that had repressed her tears in her heart for so long. She noticed that it became completely dark in the room, like it was dark in her chamber. Evening came, and she thought welcomed it as darkness afforded her only some by letting her hide her fears and grief at least for some time.

“Why is God so cruel, Robin? Do you know the answer now when you are in Heaven?” Marian choked out, and tears leaked from her eyes. “Robin, you are gone, and I am alive. You left me alone so many times! Why are you always leaving me? Why are you leaving me even if we cannot be together?”

Robin was gone – he had been buried under the tons of the desert sand, and there was even no grave where she could go and pray for his soul, as well as for her own forgiveness. The darkness around her was swirling faster and faster, until she felt smothered by pain, guilt, and sorrow. And there was nothing and nobody who could alleviate her pain – only Robin’s resurrection could have done that.

Although she took one some sleeping draught, Marian didn’t sleep well on that night. She was plagued dreaming of Robin’s death; she awoke with a loud scream, and wept in an ominous silence. Yet, she knew that if she continued weeping, her grief will never end – it will last forever. A lamenting and monotonous voice of her heart told her that Robin’s death meant the darkness for England, King Richard, his friends, Guy, and herself as well. Without Robin, the light was gone from anyone’s life.

§§§

On the same evening, Allan decided that he had to finally spend at least some time with Will and Djaq. He had already guessed that Will and Djaq were in love when they had been in Nottingham, and it was the reason why he had stepped aside and let his friends become sweethearts. He liked Djaq, but he knew that if he tried to woo her, he would fail.

The sky was dark, illuminated only by a dim orange haze like sunset. Allan knocked at the heavy wooden door of Djaq and Will’s bedchamber, which they shared in the Citadel of Acre in contrast to the time when they had lived at Bassam’s House and had been obliged to occupy separate rooms. He entered the cozy wood-paneled room with a high vaulted ceiling, a large window and heavy ornately carved furniture covered in rich dark blue satin.

Together with Will and Djaq, Allan had a dinner in their chamber. He was eating with all the appetite of a man who knew the value of keeping his bodily needs well satisfied. When the last piece of delicate meat had been finished and the last goblet of red wine had been drunk, Allan uttered a sigh of satisfaction, a wry smile hovering over his lips. He liked the French food that was cooked in the Citadel of Acre because King Richard preferred everything French and Aquitanian over English.

“Allan, we are glad that you came to Acre,” Djaq said with a small smile.

Allan eyed Will and Djaq. They wore black. He himself wore black, like everyone else in the Citadel of Acre, excluding Lady Melisende Plantagenet who preferred to wear violet colors because Robin once told her that it was her color and that he wished to see her more often in violet or purple gowns.

Allan smiled back. “Mates, you will probably not believe me, but I wanted to do a selfless and honest act of a man loyal to England, not to himself.”

Will nodded. “We believe you, Allan.”

Djaq gave him a sympathetic glance. “I knew that you are a good man, Allan.”

“I also owed all of you,” Allan admitted. “I betrayed Robin and the gang. And what I did was not a good thing, although I still think that I had my own reasons.”

“Allan, I think you betrayed not only all of us, but yourself in the first place. I was angry with you not because of the betrayal, but because you came to Gisborne and sided with the sheriff instead of trying to win Robin’s loyalty back,” Djaq opined, feeling sorry for the man who had just lost his way due to his own insecurities and greed.

Allan shook his head. “There was no way I could prove my loyalty to Robin. He banished me from the camp. He wanted to kill me, and I would have been already dead if Marian hadn’t persuaded Robin to spare my life.”

Will shrugged. “You betrayed us, and I understand Robin’s anger. He feared that you would betray Marian’s identity as the Nightwatchman.” He sighed. “I was only wondering how you could side with the sheriff after he had killed your own brother.” His usually calm face contorted in anger. “The sheriff killed my father, and it was enough for me to start hating the man with all my heart.”

“May I call you my friends?” Allan asked cautiously.

“You can,” Will replied with a smile. “Speak, Allan.”

“I have nothing to say in my defense, only that I was tortured by Gisborne,” Allan said sincerely. “I also wanted to earn money and be safe, but I never meant to do any harm to Robin and all of you.”

“You have to forgive yourself,” Djaq advised.

“Robin told me the same before he… died.” Allan still couldn’t say that his former leader was dead. “But it is difficult to do that, mates.”

“Robin forgave you, we all forgave you, and now you should make peace with yourself,” Djaq said.

“I am trying,” Allan replied, biting his bottom lip. “I am gonna say something else. I wanted to switch sides to respect myself and to do the right thing. I wanted your forgiveness.” His blue eyes glistened in the semidarkness. “But I also wanted Robin’s recognition.”

Will arched a brow. “Robin’s what?”

Djaq smiled knowingly. “I have always seen that, Allan.”

“I wanted and needed Robin’s recognition,” Allan reiterated. “Robin was always in the sun, and I was in the shadow. Everyone is in a shadow if they are close to him. But I wanted something different.”

Will looked perplexed. “I never imagined that.”

“You see, mate, I cannot tell even you some things because I was ashamed of my feelings,” Allan continued, a smile splashing over his handsome features. “I was thinking that Robin would want me to come to the Holy Land and officially switch sides.” His smile waned. “I didn’t save the king as heroically as Robin did, but at least I helped to kill the mercenaries hired by Vaisey in that town… where Robin died.” His voice was shaking at the last words. “Now I don’t need this recognition, but I feel guilty.”

“You shouldn’t,” Djaq said sincerely. “It is not your fault.”

“I know, but I could have done more.” Allan twisted his fingers.

“It is Vaisey’s fault. He killed Robin.” Will’s voice tightened with anger. “I have never hated anyone as much as I hate the sheriff.”

“Look, lads, this is the reason why I feel guilty of contributing to Robin’s death.” Allan’s expression was troubled. “I could have killed Vaisey in Nottingham. His death would have been on my conscience, but it would have been better than letting him live and kill innocents, all the more our friends.”

Will folded his arms over his chest, his breathing labored; any though of Vaisey made him wish to vomit. “The king will take care of the sheriff. He took an oath of revenge, I have heard.”

“Yes, he did,” Djaq confirmed. “He is in deep mourning for Robin.”

“I can imagine,” Allan replied, his voice tense.

“Everyone is allowed to grieve, even Kings,” Will said. “We will never forget Robin.”

Allan eyed his friends. “Will and Djaq, what are you going to do now?”

“We are staying in the Holy Land. We will live with my Uncle Bassam,” Djaq announced. She let herself dream of the happy time she would have with Will at her Uncle’s house, but her mind refused to create the pictures of happiness. For whatever reason, she didn’t feel that she was at home in the Holy Land.

Will let out a cautious smile. “My beloved, my home is where you are.” He didn’t wish to stay in Acre; he disliked the yellow sand at first glance, and Robin’s death made him almost hate the land of Christ. But he wanted to be with Djaq, so he decided to stay in Acre.

Watching Will and Djaq’s interaction in Acre, Allan was a little envious of their love, for once he also fancied Djaq. He thought that his friends had grown even closer since their departure from England. He was glad that Will and Djaq were content with their choices. Moreover, he had another girl to woo – Kate from Locksley, whom he liked very much, and now, when the king pardoned and rewarded him for his services, he would have many chances to enjoy female company.

Now Allan was going to visit Guy, who was most likely alone in his bedchamber. He knocked at the door of Guy’s bedchamber; he came to Guy to raise the spirits of the man whom everyone had considered a monster. He despised the way Much had treated Guy and had once even accused Much of crossing the line. Like Marian, Allan saw goodness in Guy; he was glad that Guy had switched sides.

Allan stepped into the room. “Guy, you are living like a king. I like this room.”

Guy rose to his feet from his armchair. “I cannot complain. How are you doing, Allan?”

“I had an audience with the king in the afternoon,” Allan informed.

“Take a seat there,” Guy said, pointing at an armchair near the hearth. “If you want, you can have something from my dinner.”

Guy didn’t attend the official dinners at the great hall, though King Richard gave him his permission to go there. Richard’s generals and some other people, like Henry de Champagne and his wife, always dined in the great hall, and if Guy had gone there, he would have risked enduring whisperings and cold glares of the king’s men; he ordered food into his bedroom, like tonight.

Guy ate very little during these days. His appetite plummeted together with his spirits since the day of regicide in Imuiz. On the table in the corner, lay a partially eaten feast: a roasted pheasant, various cheeses and three bottles of wine. Guy rejoiced that he had good French wine which had been delivered to Acre at the order of King Richard and Henry de Champagne. When the pain in his heart was especially intensive, he drank much wine to forget the reality.

“No, thank you. I had just finished my dinner with Will and Djaq,” Allan answered as he settled into the armchair. “When I lived in Sherwood, Will and Djaq were my friends.” He emitted a heavy sigh. “But after… I had betrayed Robin, I lost their friendship. I am happy that now we are friends again.”

“Congratulations.” Guy sank into the armchair, looking at the flames of the torches. “You said that you had been with King Richard. How is the king?”

Allan crossed his arms over his chest. “The king is feeling better, but his wound is still disturbing him and it is painful for him to move his arm and shoulder.” He shrugged. “And, of course, the king is not happy at all. He is devastated… after Robin’s death.”

“It must be very difficult for the king to get over the loss of Robin Hood.” Now when he knew the truth, Guy knew better than anyone else how difficult it was for King Richard.

“I befriended Roger de Lacy on the long way to Acre; he is a good man. Roger told me many stories about his childhood and early youth he spent at Prince Richard’s court in Poitiers,” Allan confided in his former master. “Robin of Locksley, Robert de Beaumont, Roger of Stoke, Roger de Lacy, Legrand de Walcott, and some other knights befriended each other at Prince Richard’s court.” He sighed. “Roger said that King Richard took them under his care like small birds, paid attention to them, educated and trained them, and they finally grew up into his large birds.” He smiled. “Roger’s comparison to birds is more applicable to Robin as his name means a bird, but the sense doesn’t change.”

“And?” The reminder of Roger of Stoke was another blow to Guy.

“If the mighty King of England chose them so many years ago and… erm… guided them, then it means that the man really cares for them. He won’t forget… their deaths very quickly.”

The man in black leather cocked a brow. “Especially in Robin’s case.”

“Certainly, Guy. Sir Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester, said that Robin’s death created a large hole in everyone’s heart, especially in the king’s heart and his own heart.”

“I don’t know the Earl of Leicester very well, and I have no desire to know him.”

“Look, mate, I understand you why you don’t want to see all these people. They are the king’s men, and it is clear that they are not gonna like you anytime soon.”

“I don’t care what they think about me.”

"Guy, listen… I know that things were tough between us, but I am at your side.”

“When you served me, I grew very fond of you, Allan. I can understand that you didn’t want to kill the king, but I trusted you,” Guy chided almost gently. “And you betrayed my trust.”

Allan swallowed hard at the bitterness that filled him with the recollection of the events when he was torn between his friendly affection for Guy, his deep affection for Robin Hood, and his guilty conscience. “At first, I was honored to be in the inner sanctum, but very soon many things changed. The mission to kill the Queen Mother’s golden boy chilled me to the bone, even more than attempt on King Richard’s life.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “I was appalled that the prince wished to kill the queen’s son out of personal revenge on his own mother. Revenge on his own mother is worse than desire to kill the king out of his ambitions for the throne. I couldn’t stay aside and do nothing.”

Guy’s expression was tenebrous. “I understand.”

“I wonder who Queen Eleanor’s bastard son is.”

Guy swallowed convulsively. “I don’t know. I don’t think the prince will ever find him. All the traces must have been covered up.” The king said that all the spies who had heard the secret and all the other witnesses were dead, and the deaths of Bridget and Thornton proved that the lion didn’t lie.

Allan shook his head in agreement. “We will never learn the truth.”

“What are you going to do now, Allan?”

“I pledged my loyalty to King Richard.”

“The king’s man now, eh?” Guy laughed at the irony.

“I am not a soldier, but I will be loyal to the king,” Allan said. “I will repay my debt to Robin.”

Guy arched a brow. “Which debt? For betrayal?”

“I owe Robin,” Allan stated. “I was rescued by Robin after being caught poaching on the first day of Robin’s arrival in Nottingham. Robin also saved my life from hanging. He didn’t save Tom, but there is no way he could know that Tom’s execution was rescheduled.” He lowered his eyes in shame. “And how did I pay Robin back? I betrayed him by siding with the sheriff. And yet, Robin still gave me a chance to come back, although he had already left England.”

Gisborne narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You worked for Hood while he was in the Holy Land?”

“Robin sent me a message through one of the king’s men,” Allan confessed. “I agreed to warn Robin about the next regicide attempt when you go to the Holy Land; Robin demanded nothing else.”

“And what did Robin promise you in return?”

“The king’s pardon and reward,” Allan said.

Guy looked disgusted. “You are greedy, selfish, and hypocritical, as always.”

Allan sighed, his heart sinking. “Wait, Guy. I am gonna tell you my story.” His gaze turned sad. “Tom and I were born in Rochdale in Lancashire. My father was an impoverished local baron – Sir George of Heywood, Baron of Rochdale. My father gambled all our money and was a hopeless drunkard. In alcoholic daze, he killed my mother and was arrested; later he killed himself in the dungeon to avoid shame of public execution.” His expression was pained. “Our family was disgraced. Our small manor was confiscated. At that time, I was only ten years old; Tom was two years older than me.”

Guy looked at him incredulously. “I have never thought that you are a dispossessed nobleman.”

Allan chuckled. “You see, you and I have much in common.”

“Indeed.”                                                                                                              

“After we had lost everything, I became an expert pickpocket,” Allan continued his tale. “I was very poor, and I saw nothing wrong in robbing, cheating, plotting, and lying. I lived only for myself and was unable to imagine what it is to do something honorable and good for the people, just humble souls, innocent and helpless.” He trailed off; a feeling of guilt slashed though his heart. “I lived in the same way until I met Robin and you, Guy.”

“And what did we do for you?”

Allan laughed lightly; it was his first easy laugh since the day of Robin’s death. "Yeah, Guy," he said, winking at Guy. “Robin and you changed my life and changed me.” He laughed again. “I have never told you, Guy, but I have… a musical talent: I play lute and sing songs, at times compose songs.”

Guy was utterly amazed. “You possess many talents, and not all of them are bad.”

“Many bards sing songs about Robin Hood and his merry men, but they don’t know how Robin and the gang fought for justice,” Allan continued with a smile. “I was a part of Robin’s fight, and someday I am gonna write a song about Robin Hood and his outlaws and our fight against the sheriff.” He gave Guy a wry smile. “Maybe one day I will compose a song or a ballad about your reconciliation with Robin.”

“Robin Hood can become immortal through your songs,” Guy said in almost cheerful tones.

Allan shook his head. “Robin Hood has already become immortal,” he said emphatically. “Robin Hood is the legend and the spirit of England. Memory about him will live long after we all are gone.”

Guy’s eyes flashed, and he smiled. “Robin’s fight for justice made him immortal.”

“I will make Robin Hood _the greatest legend of all times_ , and the memory about him will be _eternal_ ,” Allan pledged. “I will compose and sing many songs about Robin Hood and his merry men, including about myself.” He paused, giving a satisfied smile at the thought that he would also become immortal through his own songs. “Robin Hood will be reborn in imagination of many generations many times over, and the legend will never die.”

Guy poured out two goblets of wine, and gave one to Allan took it with a grateful smile.

“To Robin of Locksley,” Guy offered a toast for his former enemy.

For a moment, Allan looked abashed, but then he smiled. “To Robin Hood,” he said.

Allan and Guy sat in a silence for a minute, slowly drinking wine and giving a tribute to Robin Hood.

“What about your connection to Robin and me?” Guy inquired after a pause.

There was a small grin on Allan’s face as he began singing the song about Robin Hood, and Guy smiled.

_Robin Hood, Robin Hood, riding through the glen_

_Robin Hood, Robin Hood, with his band of men_

_Feared by the bad, loved by the good_

_Robin Hood, Robin Hood, Robin Hood!_

_He called the greatest archers to a tavern on the green_

_They vowed to help the people of the King_

_They handled all the trouble on the English country scene_

_And still found plenty of time to sing._

Allan looked almost happy when he finished the song. “Robin and you changed me in too many ways.” Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne had turned his life upside down, and there was much he could say on the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very sad because everyone is mourning for Robin. Robin Hood’s death is a dramatic event, even more dramatic than Marian’s death, so we needed a chapter for everyone to reconcile with the thought that Robin is gone forever. I have some good news for fans of Robin who were very annoyed with me for killing off Robin: you will learn about Robin’s fate in the next chapter.
> 
> Marian is grieving, and she must grieve because Robin’s death means the death of the part of her own life. She has too much in common with Robin, and they spent much time together. It is normal that she is heartbroken. Marian is grieving in solitude because it is her character: she is a loner by nature on the show and it seems that she doesn’t even have many friends. So she doesn’t need anyone now.
> 
> I introduced Allan’s backstory, like I gave you Much’s backstory in the previous chapter; I am just trying to give more “depth” to the characters. I hope you liked my idea that Allan is a descendant of a dispossessed nobleman. I wanted something original for Allan, and I also wanted Allan to have something else in common with Guy because they are friends. Guy needs a friend because you surely understand that Robin’s friends are not going to warm up to him anytime soon.
> 
> The 17th century introduced the minstrel Alan-a-Dale into the legend, and I decided to adhere to this version. So Allan is going to compose songs and ballads about Robin, making Robin more immortal than the legend of England has already become.


	11. Departure from Acre

**Chapter 11**

**Departure from Acre**

Several torches were burning steadily, sending shadows and tongues of light flickering up the wall. Allan didn’t speak for a while, as if he were preparing for some important speech, and Guy was growing annoyed and impatient with the other man. The silence in the chamber was full of mournful currents which they could feel brushing them. Robin was not with them, but it seemed that his spirit was there.

At last, Guy was unable to keep silent. “Tell me finally, what Robin and I did for you,” he requested.

Allan smiled feebly. “Robin showed me that a highborn nobleman can throw away his lofty titles and wealth just because he craves to save innocent people.” He paused and sighed dejectedly as the image of Robin’s face flashed into his mind along with an assault of many memories about their adventures in the woods. Then he began to speak in a voice laced with the pain stemming from the loss of Robin. “I admired Robin since our first meeting. I grew to love Robin as a friend, though he… wasn’t very courteous towards me after he unmasked my betrayal and before… his death.”

“I suspected that you admire Robin Hood.”

“Well, who does not admire Robin? He is… was… a great man,” Allan murmured. “Or do Robin’s actions towards you disagree with what you believed about him to be true?

“Hood… Robin… was a man of great bravery and great goodness.”

 “Good that you finally agree with us.”

Guy smiled ever so slightly. “I cannot deny that.”

Allan’s face evolved into contemplation; a rather unusual expression for an easy-going man like him. “I have never considered Robin a knight in shining armor, like Little John. Robin was righteous, annoying, arrogant, and often selfish, but he was strong, honest, loyal, compassionate, clever, witty, brave, and self-sacrificing. His outstanding ability to always have his way irritated me beyond measure. And there was nothing evil in him, though he could have been… very dark at times.”

“Robin could control his darkness very well if he wanted that.” In the minutes when he was especially disgusted with Vaisey and himself, Guy envied Robin’s ability to suppress his instincts of a killer.

“Yes,” Allan replied. “I always wondered how Robin managed to not kill in Nottingham after fighting in the Holy Land for five years. He was a Crusader and an incredible gifted fighter!”

“Indeed. Robin was very skilled with all weapons.”

Allan reminisced, “Once I watched Robin practicing swordplay in a cloistered place in the forest. I was stunned with the types of lunges and blows he never used in Nottingham. Later I watched Robin fighting with the sheriff’s guards on the Great North Road when Vaisey disguised himself as the Bishop of Hereford, and Robin went berserk with rage.” He lapsed into silence for a moment, thinking. “I was frightened of Robin at such moments, of what I saw – his aggressiveness, fierceness, agility, and brutality.”

“Anyone would have been scared.”

Allan stared into the flames of the fire. “Robin taught me a lesson that my life was not honorable. He proved to me that you can have nothing, at the same time giving everything you have to the people and still be happy.” His voice halted with the pain of loss once again, and he trailed off for a moment. As he pulled himself together, he glanced back at Guy and went on. “Robin proved me that I could become a better man who helps people selflessly and respects himself for good deals. I will be forever grateful to him for that.”

“What about me, Allan?” Guy rose to his feet and walked to the table. He filled two silver goblets of wine for himself and Allan. Then he returned to his chair and handed one goblet to Allan.

Allan decided to be entirely frank with Guy. “I cannot say that I was happy to meet you. I was an outlaw, and I despised you, like all of my friends. You wanted to kill each of us and worked for the sheriff who killed my brother Tom.” He sipped wine; a large smile lit up his face as he savored the wine. “When you tortured me in the dungeon and coerced me into the betrayal of the gang, I hated you very much. I was a reluctant informer, and I considered myself guilty of betraying my friends.”

“It is quite understandable.”

“Later, when I worked for you, I saw another side to you,” Allan continued. He paused, slowly sipping wine. “I saw that you are a good man and that your past tormented you. I thought that something had happened to you in the past, and only now Marian told me about… your old enmity with Robin.”

Guy almost choked on his wine. “What did she tell you?”

“A few things. Only that the Gisborne lands were included into the Locksley estates after your father had been declared a leper and had been banished. And she also told me why Robin hated you.”

“Because I started the fire,” Guy finished for him.

“Yes.” Allan nodded. “I am confused as to why Robin didn’t let his hatred go earlier. He wasn’t a cruel and vengeful man.” He emptied the contents of his goblet and set it on the table. “Well, I guess he had his own reasons, for you tried to kill the king and sided with the sheriff.”

“Marian told you only about the fire, didn’t she?”

“Yes, Guy, nothing else. And should she say something else?”

“No, of course, no,” Guy replied, shaking his head.

Guy silently thanked God that her current distress didn’t loosen Marian’s tongue; they didn’t need to have any problems with the king. He knew the outcome if they were talkative – they would die a premature death. They could tell others only the official version of the story, which Guy and Robin had always known.

“When I saw kindness and goodness in your heart, I was sure that you can be a different man,” Allan said quietly with a smile. “Guy, you were quite heroic during the siege of Nottingham, and I was proud of you at that moment. Robin saved the town and the people from Prince John’s troops, but you managed to maintain people’s spirit before Robin delivered the Sheriff to Nottingham.”

Guy smiled. “You are one of the few people who saw goodness in me.”

“Marian and I knew about that.” Allan placed the goblet on the floor near his armchair.

“Yes.”

A thoughtful Allan replied honestly, “Robin demonstrated what it means to be a good man. You taught me another invaluable lesson.” He smiled mysteriously. He was quiet for a few heartbeats, collecting his thoughts. “You and I were lost souls, and we both were misguided. And when I looked at you, I thought that I could see a man who was lost in the world and was trying to find his way to what he wanted to achieve.”

“But there is something else?” Guy slammed his empty goblet on a nearby table.

“I am gonna be straightforward, mate.” Allan emitted a heavy sigh. “On your example, Guy, I came to the conclusion that I can become a man whose misguided loyalties can lead him to the point where he is tormented not only by his demons but is also overwhelmed by… self-loathing and self-disgust, I am sorry to say that. Your example proved that I should do everything to avoid following your path.” He smiled and outstretched his arms. “You also showed that even villains might have a heart. You proved that an evil man can have hidden goodness and that anyone is not everything we see at first glance. Nobody should be taken… at face value.” His arms went to his sides.

Guy laughed softly. “You can talk not only about money, and you really have quite good understanding of human nature.” His face darkened. “But your theatrics remind me of someone.”

“The sheriff,” Allan deduced.

“Exactly.” Guy clenched his fists.

“Sorry, mate.”

“Now please tell me about your reward,” Guy changed the topic.

Allan’s face was aflame with gladness. “The king gave me what I had never thought I would ever have back. I am gonna say that I love the king and Robin.”

“What?” Guy smiled.

“The king gave me the lands my father had owned before his dispossession,” Allan informed, his eyes sparkling with happiness. “Now I am Allan of Heywood, Baron of Rochdale.”

Guy’s expression evolved into amazement and then understanding. He smiled heartily, and it was not a tiny sarcastic smile that everyone was accustomed to seeing on Guy’s face. “I am happy that you were re-instated to your noble status. It is very good that you are now like me.”

“I am not a knight, but I am going to become a trained knight.” Allan sniggered. “And I am not holding two titles like Robin. I–” He broke off abruptly, his countenance growing serious. “Oh, I am talking about him as if he were alive. It is really difficult to believe that Robin is no longer with us.”

“I cannot believe either. Robin seemed to be invincible, and yet… he was a mortal. I cannot forget how he lay there… with his own scimitar…” He stumbled with words.

“I was awful,” Allan said. “I was horrified when I saw Robin… as he lay on the blood-soaked sand. There was so much blood, as if three people had been stabbed.”

Guy’s lips thinned, his face was grave. “Allan, I beg your pardon, but I cannot talk about that.”

“I agree. It is better… not to talk that.”

Guy and Allan lapsed into a long silence, everyone thinking of Robin and of the tragedy.

“Allan, answer one question, please,” Guy began in a voice that was shaking with the force of emotions churning in his chest. “Did you know that Robin had been betrothed to Marian before I married her? He must have proposed to her after his return.”

Allan turned his gaze at Guy; his eyes went wide. “You know, don’t you?”

The steel blue eyes flashed. “Marian told me about that.”

“Oh, Maz is a bold girl,” Allan said hurriedly. “When did she tell you? She didn’t want you to know.”

“It is not your deal,” Guy retorted. “So you knew that Marian had married me while she was still betrothed to Robin.” He stood up abruptly and went to the window. “I guess the outlaws also knew. It seems that Robin and I were the only ones who were deceived.”

“Guy, do you really care? It is strange that you had the change of heart so quickly.”

Guy swung around, looking at Allan with an intensive gaze. “I wouldn’t care a year ago, but now… everything changed.” He smiled regretfully. “Everything changed – my life changed. I learned many things I had never known before. And now I know that I misjudged Robin.”

An astonished Allan murmured, “I never thought to hear these words from you, mate.”

“But you hear them now.”

“Well, I understand you. Robin asked the king to pardon you, and you have your lands back.” Allan’s voice trailed off, and he glanced at Guy uncertainly.

Guy returned to the armchair and sat down. “Many things changed, but it is out of your business.”

“I am not gonna ask anything else, Guy.”

“Good decision, Allan.” Guy leaned back in his seat, his elbow on its upholstered arm. “You seem to be quite close to Marian. Did she say something about her relationship with Robin after our marriage?”

With a sigh, Allan answered, “Well, Maz remembered Robin from time to time. I think that she was worried about him because he disappeared.” He feared to say something that could hurt Guy.

Guy shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Did she love Robin when she married me?”

“Guy, it is a difficult question.”

Guy opened his eyes, his expression vulnerable for a moment before turning inscrutable. “I need to know your opinion. Did she love Robin? Did he love her?”

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. In a silence, Guy could hear his heart hammering in his chest as he waited for an answer which he had already known in advance and dreaded.

Allan bit his bottom lip as his discomfort was rising, and he wanted to end it as soon as possible. But Guy wanted to talk, and he was bound to give honest answers. “Guy, I… think Maz missed Robin very much.” He paused, thinking whether he should have continued. But Robin was dead, and the truth could be revealed now. “I am sorry, Guy, but I think that Marian loved Robin very much. Their relationship was… difficult: Robin was an outlaw at that time, she was angry with Robin, and he was jealous.” He pursed his lips. “But Maz wasn’t indifferent to you, believe me, mate. I think that she was torn between you and Robin.”

“Thank you, Allan. You said what I had already suspected. Now I know the truth.”

A discomfited Guy glanced away, and Allan watched the older man frown his forehead.

“Guy?” Allan called.

Guy flicked his gaze back to Allan. “ _A woman’s passion for a man is like a flame_. It flares up one day, and then it suddenly extinguished. And tomorrow, she wants someone else, or she is torn between two men. In the end, she doesn’t know whom she wants, and everyone suffers.”

Allan didn’t respond. He could see the anguish in Guy’s eyes and sighed morbidly. Then he heard Guy mutter something in Norman-French, but he didn’t understand the meaning of Guy’s words. He didn’t remember Norman-French very well: he had been too young when his father had been dispossessed, and he hadn’t been given a chance to receive a good education. Allan thought that he had no right to intrude upon Marian’s relationship with Guy. He hoped that Guy wouldn’t ask him anything else.

§§§

At dawn, Roger de Tosny knocked at the door of Guy’s bedchamber and notified that King Richard had summoned Guy and Marian to his chambers for an urgent audience. They were supposed to sail from Acre at midday, and the second audience with the king was the most unexpected thing to happen on that morning. Fear gripped Guy’s heart, fear that the king had decided to revoke his pardon and execute him. Marian had the same thoughts. They both struggled with the dread that lurked in their heads.

Roger de Tosny opened the door, letting Marian and Guy go ahead. This time the audience was given not in the bloody room, but indeed in the king’s presence chamber. The king felt much better and had already started accepting visitors, at the same time preparing to sail from Acre soon.

They entered a fair-sized room with a high white ceiling. The walls were swathed in multicolored velvet hangings and tapestries; pieces of heavy oak furniture stood around the room. On one of the walls, there was a magnificent tapestry depicting the imposing figure of King Richard the Lionheart capturing Acre. The interior of the presence chamber was soothing to the grim mood of the king’s guests.

In accordance with the official protocol, Guy bowed deeply. Marian sank into a curtsey.

“Milord, we have come here at your request,” Guy began flatly, his outward calmness hiding his fears.

“Sire,” Marian murmured, feeling uncomfortable in front of the king. Determinedly, she shook off her melancholic thoughts and noticed that the king was not alone – his cousin Melisende was there.

“Rise and sit down,” King Richard permitted.

Guy seated himself into a chair, cursing in his mind that he was still clad in black leather. The heat was overpowering even in the early morning, banishing the refreshing effect of the faint breeze from the sea. Marian also sat down, leaning her head back against the back of a chair and smoothing her skirts.

“Did you stop on Cyprus on the way to the Holy Land?” the king asked without any preamble.

Marian and Guy studied their sovereign closely. Richard looked clearly displeased. They noted the paleness of the king’s face and his still bandaged wound, but he most definitely looked healthier and less exhausted today. The king wore a royal purple silk tunic with a jeweled belt on his waist, refusing to wear mourning for Robin any longer, for Robin was still alive for him in his heart.

“Yes, we did. We spent several hours there,” Guy replied.

“And?” Richard prompted to speak.

His heart thudding in sudden panic, Guy confessed, “The sheriff killed Guy de Lusignan, the King of Cyprus, when we made a short stop on Cyprus. He was a spy bought by the Black Knights.”

An intrigued Richard stared at the window as he pondered over the confession of the traitor whom he had pardoned. Marian blanched at Guy’s words, while Melisende numbly shook her head.

“Vaisey seems to like killing Kings,” Melisende broke the silence.

A ruthless gleam in his eyes, the king informed them, "Today in the morning, I received the news that Guy de Lusignan’s body had been discovered in a small tavern in the harbor of Limassol. He was disguised; he wasn’t wearing his kingly robes.” He raised his voice slightly. “This is the reason why I summoned you.”

“Guy de Lusignan was buried at the Church of the Templars in Nicosia,” Melisende added.

Guy stiffened as if the lion had rammed the fist into his face; for an instant, there was fear in his eyes. “Prince John’s assassin, Archer, and I witnessed de Lusignan’s murder. We both were shocked.”

The Lionheart’s features hardened, and there were small lines of ruthlessness around his mouth. “I see," he said dryly. “I suppose I should be pleased that Sheriff Vaisey killed one of the Black Knights? My men will have less work to do. What do you think, Gisborne?"

Marian and Guy shuddered at the sensible feeling of the cruel, deathly aura around the king’s imposing figure. With baited breath, they watched the flush of rage cross the lion’s face.

“I don’t know.” Guy drew a hand through his hair.

The king mocked, "Pretending to be shy, Sir Guy? Nothing else to say?”

"Nothing, sire," Guy admitted grudgingly.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” an irate Richard demanded.

Guy was horrified but struggled to look calm. “We talked about the past, sire. I told you only about the crimes I committed at Vaisey’s behest. I didn’t kill Guy de Lusignan, and, thus, I said nothing.”

The king stared at Guy with icy blue eyes. “This is not a justification,” he parried. “If there is something else I don’t know, then you must tell me this now. I want to know about all the plans of Prince John and the Black Knights. Otherwise, I can make you regret that you didn’t cooperate with me in full heart.”

Guy shuddered inwardly and avouched, “I swear I would have told you if I knew something else.” He paused, his mind meandering over the past few months. There was something else he was obliged to tell his liege. “As Robin killed Robert de Sablé, I assume that you already have the Pact of Caen and the Pact of Nottingham. If Vaisey planned something else to try to kill you, I really have no idea about it.”

“Very well then.” The king’s eyes revealed tiredness, and he sighed deeply.

“Two more things,” Guy said. “The sheriff also killed Sir Legrand de Walcott in Nottingham.”

The lion nodded. “I know. Roger de Lacy told me about that. What else?”

“The so-called golden boy,” Guy pronounced emphatically. “Prince John knows that Queen Eleanor has an illegitimate son. He has spies in the Queen Mother’s household, but I don’t know their names.”

The king smiled slyly. "Trust me that I am fully aware of the situation. Vaisey charged you, Sir Guy, and Allan-a-dale, your former right-hand man, with the task to find my mother’s son and murder him. It was one of the reasons why I recalled Robin back to Acre, wishing to keep him close to me.” His visage and eyes darkened with grief. “But my attempts were futile. Vaisey killed him not knowing whose life he took.”

Guy blanched at the realization that Allan had enlightened Richard about all the things they had done for the sheriff and the prince. A piercing pain of betrayal ripped his heart apart, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He grew so fond of Allan who had betrayed him despite everything. “We didn’t find the queen’s son, and Prince John was very angry with the sheriff,” he said, lowering his head.

The king smiled knowingly. “You could make up only a list of suspects.”

“That’s exactly what happened, milord,” Guy confirmed.

“The spies in Aunt Eleanor’s entourage! They are too dangerous,” Melisende returned heatedly, her face changing into an anxious expression. “I don’t want my child to be in danger because of John’s ambitions and his hatred for Aunt Eleanor.”

“Calm down, my dear. John’s spies are already dead,” King Richard said calmly. He glared at Marian and Guy. “Nobody knows about Robin’s true parentage, and nobody should ever know about it. I will never allow anyone to disgrace my mother’s name and endanger the life of Robin’s child.” He narrowed his eyes. “If you, Sir Guy, or even you, Lady Marian, ever utter a word about the matter, I will have to use drastic measures, which I don't want to apply to both of you. Is that clear?”

The king chose to repeat his warnings. Marian and Guy nodded in understanding, knowing that the king didn’t joke; Richard only nodded back at them, signaling that they had come to an agreement.

The coldness and ruthlessness in the king’s voice left Marian feeling slightly lightheaded, for she wasn’t accustomed to being highly praised one day and then, in the next moment, threatened, but she, of course, understood the lion’s motives. She was also appalled at how easily the king was talking about death and the annihilation of people who could betray him. Marian looked at Guy, and, almost reading his mind, realized that they were treading on dangerous ground. Richard Plantagenet was a cunning, vengeful, capricious, and powerful man, who could have destroyed them by simply snapping his fingers if he wished to do that.

“Who will be King of Cyprus now?” Marian was merely curious.

The king’s features softened. “Guy de Lusignan had no surviving issue: his daughters by Sibylla of Jerusalem – Alix and Marie – both died young of plague in Acre four years ago. Some time ago, I sent the Earl of Leicester and Henry de Champagne to negotiate who will succeed him, and he agreed on the subject of de Lusignan’s successor. Aimery de Lusignan succeeded Guy, and he seems to be at my side.”

“Aimery is your ally, Richard,” Melisende commented. “He is not like his treacherous brother.”

Richard deftly redirected the conversation to another vitally important topic. Looking Guy in the eye, he announced, “Gisborne, It has come to my knowledge that you are extremely angry at Lord Vaisey.”

An amazed Guy blinked. “Yes, I am, sire.” Questions circled his mind. How had the king learned about that? Did Richard have his spies everywhere? His liege was certainly a more complicated personality than Guy had even thought of him before.

“I don’t want you to kill Lord Vaisey,” Richard said uncompromisingly.

Staring into Richard's eyes, Guy bared his tormented heart and soul. “Vaisey humiliated me throughout many years! He is guilty of my own father, King Henry, never believing that I am his son! Vaisey used me and brutalized me! I became a traitor largely thanks to him! I cannot forgive him!”

“Sir Guy, leave the sheriff’s fate to my loyal men. He will get his retribution, like all the Black Knights,” Richard stated in a commanding tone. “Don’t make your life more complicated. He may kill you.”

“Vaisey will not kill me. I will kill him,” Guy protested passionately. “I want him dead at my blade.”

“Gisborne, be rational,” the king admonished. “You don’t know what you will find in Nottingham.” The raw, deep pain flickered in his eyes. “We all have underestimated Vaisey’s craft and wickedness, and it is mainly my fault. I should have predicted that Vaisey would do something outrageous to drive a wedge between Robin and me.” His tone was steady and neutral, but there was guilt beneath the shell of neutrality.

“I have never expected that my sister Isabella conspired with Prince John and Vaisey.” Guy thought that the king was absolutely right that they had underestimated Vaisey’s wickedness.

“We made many mistakes, and nothing can be undone now,” the king summed up, his voice sad and silken. “The tragedy in the courtyard was a tragic coincidence. Everything just went wrong at the beginning, and then we just tumbled down a huge hill.”

“If I go to Nottingham, I won’t do these mistakes again,” Guy declared with confidence.

Richard assessed shrewdly, “Vaisey is unpredictable, ruthless, and cunning. He is too dangerous.”

“Vaisey has always been as dangerous as the devil himself,” Guy emphasized.

“Vaisey has ice in his veins.” The king looked at Guy with barely concealed anger at his stubborn subject. “His potential for ruthlessness and deceit is very deep. We must be very cautious.”

Marian noticed the gathering fury on Richard’s face, fearful of the possible explosion of his Angevin temper. “Guy, listen to our liege. You shouldn’t even think about killing the sheriff.”

“I agree with Richard,” Melisende interposed, her expression immensely serious. “I don’t think that you, Sir Guy, should return to Nottingham now. The sheriff will order to arrest you.”

“Vaisey will just kill you, Gisborne,” the lion said directly.

Guy clenched his fists into tight balls as he imagined slashing the throat of his former master. He wanted to spill Vaisey’s blood with every fibre of his being. "He will do nothing if I myself kill him."

“Please calm down, Sir Guy,” Melisende expostulated. “Now you are not thinking straight! You won’t be felicitous if you return to England: most likely, you will be killed as soon as you appear in Nottingham. Alternatively, you will have to escape from the shire and the country in disguise. Remember Sir William de Longchamp, who is so devoted to Richard and whom the English people call a bandy-legged little foreigner.” Her lips curled into a wan smile. “Now de Longchamp lives at Aunt Eleanor’s court. He had to flee England in various disguises because of John’s plot against him after the Council had declared his offices forfeit.”

Guy was disheartened as his hopes were dashed. “Maybe you are right.”

Richard smiled bleakly. “I don’t think that clothes of a monk or even female clothes are suitable for Sir Guy, like it was in de Longchamp’s case. Black leather suits him better.”

Marian rejoiced that the king became amicable. “Definitely, I cannot imagine Guy in a woman’s gown.”

Guy’s mood darkened as black leather reminded him of the sheriff. “Oh, wearing black leather is even worse than wearing any disguise,” he muttered. Vaisey had a black heart, but Guy didn’t, and Vaisey would pay for everything, he took an oath in spite of the king’s warnings.

“Don’t go to Nottingham until my return to England, Sir Guy,” Richard warned, as if he were able to read Guy’s thoughts.

“Guy won’t go there,” Marian pleaded.

“I will not,” Guy said absently.

“Good.” His words didn’t erase Marian’s feeling that Guy would do the opposite.

“Remember what I told you about secrecy,” Richard reminded them again. “If I ever learn that one of you broke our agreement, retribution will be harsh. Punishment is death.”

Marian blanched, a shiver running down her spine. “I swear that I will never utter a word.”

“I will not betray you, milord,” Guy said sincerely. “You have my deepest and most heartfelt gratitude for granting me pardon and for telling me the truth.”

“I believe Gisborne will be loyal to you, Richard,” Melisende told her cousin, albeit reluctantly. “Now he knows the truth. He cannot go back to Vaisey. He has no reason to betray you.”

Guy smiled at Melisende. He liked Robin’s wife and, of course, found her outstandingly beautiful. Like Marian, Guy understood why Robin could find happiness in his arranged marriage.

The king measured Guy with a half skeptical look. “I hope so.”

“I will be loyal to you, sire. I know that I owe you… and Robin a tremendous debt of gratitude for my pardon,” Guy acknowledged; he wasn’t sure that the king believed him, and he was right.

“Very well,” Richard retorted.

Guy took a deep breath and began earnestly, "Sire, one more question?”

“Go on,” the lion prompted.

“What will happen to my sister Isabella?” Guy’s voice sounded humble.

The Lionheart’s countenance emanated fury. “Lady Isabella participated in regicide. Roger de Lacy told me many things about Lady Isabella’s association with my brother John, and I believe him. I will think about her fate later as there are more important things to deal with at first.”

Guy stiffened at the king’s words. “Sire, with all due respect, she is my sister–”

Richard cut him off sharply. "I can promise you nothing."

“Of course, milord,” Guy said.

“Do you have any other questions?” the lion inquired.

“No, I don’t.” Guy replied briefly. “Thank you very much, milord.”

“Very well then.” The king swung his gaze to his cousin. “Melisende, you are leaving Acre the day after tomorrow. Robert will accompany you to Aquitaine, where you will stay with my mother. Mother will need your support; she will be happy to have you by her side.”

A startled Melisende asked, “Who will travel with you, Richard? Why are you sending everyone away?”

Richard rubbed his chin. “I will leave in a week, for I still need some time to recover. André de Chauvigny will be with me. I appointed him captain of my private guard.”

A sense of alarm crept into Melisende’s mind. “Richard, it is not the brightest idea of yours!”

Richard stubbornly shook his head. “This is my final decision!” his voice boomed through the presence chapter. “I have my own plan! André and my other loyal men will keep me safe.” His eyes reflected his deep affection as he told his cousin, “You, Melisende, will be alright. I can trust your life and the life of your unborn child only to Robert. Then Robert will leave you to lead my army against Philippe in Normandy. Roger de Lacy will stay in the north of England, controlling our strongholds against John.”

“As you wish, Richard,” Melisende admitted defeat. The thought that she would be accompanied home, to Aquitaine, by the Earl of Leicester of all the king’s loyal men, her former lover and Robin’s close friend, was both strange and soothing.

Marian and Guy shared bewildered glances. The king was a stubborn and desperate man if he had wanted and had decided something.

Richard climbed to his feet. He repressed a small groan as his bandaged hand still disturbed him; the infection from Vaisey’s arrow had complicated the matter of his quick recovery. “I have already talked to Allan about the Black Knights, but I also want to talk to you, Sir Guy. You surely know more than Allan. I hope you can allow yourself to spend an hour more here.”

“Of course, sire. We have already packed our things, and I have time.” Guy rose to his feet and bowed with barely suppressed delight; he was thrilled to be on more amicable terms with the king.

“Good,” Richard said shortly, motioning Guy to go to the adjacent room.

Guy felt that King Richard’s attitude to him had improved a little bit in the past days. The king still loathed him, but there definitely was cold respect from the monarch’s side. And the king accepted the reality that he had pardoned Guy and that he could have used him for his purposes.

There were no deep love, no friendly affection, and no simple sympathy in Guy’s relationship with King Richard – there was only cold respect and utter practicality, mingled with loathing Richard felt for Guy on due to two assassination attempts on his life. Yet, there was no hatred and no humiliation, a sharp contrast to Guy’s relationship with the sheriff. At least, the king wasn’t lying to him and using him without giving anything in return: Richard had pardoned him, even though only at Robin’s request.

As the king and Guy left the room, Marian and Melisende remained alone. It was an unusual moment for both of them. The Lady of Knighton Hall and the Lady of the Plantagenet royal house; the knight’s daughter and the king’s blood cousin; the former betrothed of Robin Hood, and the wife of Robin Hood; the woman whom Robin had loved and the woman whom Robin had been quickly falling with; the woman who had rejected him and the woman who had fallen in love with him in the months since their meeting in Limassol.

Marian lowered her head and studied her bronze-green silk gown that was cut so shockingly low that it revealed more of her small, firm breasts than it concealed; her hair was loosely secured on the top of her head in the finest Aquitanian fashion. She had been again given a gown by one of Lady Melisende’s lady-in-waiting: she still had nothing to wear, and it was difficult to find Christian clothes in Acre.

The scent of the violet perfume drifted pleasantly to Marian’s nostrils, and she turned her head to look at Melisende. She smiled at Robin’s wife – Robin‘s widow. Elegantly dressed in a stylish, low-cut gown of light violet silk with a frivolous long train made out of purple taffeta that swept the floor, Melisende was one of the most beautiful she had ever met, Marian thought. Marian was impressed that the king’s cousin had red-gold hair and violet eyes, which made the young royal lady truly unforgettable. Marian had thought that Isabella was a very beautiful woman, but Isabella’s appearance paled as compared to Melisende’s.

Marian was happily aware that she herself was a very beautiful woman, a rare beauty as she had heard about herself from her many former suitors, with her impressive sapphire blue eyes and her alabaster skin, knowing that even her reserved smile gave her an official and yet flirtatious air, while the lovely curves of her waist and firm little bosom charmed and seduce men. Yet, she didn’t look like a stunning, unforgettable seductress, like Melisende, who was queenly beautiful and regal, enigmatic and captivating. She understood why Robin had been falling for his young wife, attracted to her blossoming beauty.

Melisende slowly rose to her feet and walked over to a large wooden table with a heap of parchments – King Richard’s letters and correspondence. She rummaged among the parchments and extracted a carefully wrapped object from somewhere. Then she swiveled and stalked towards Marian.

Melisende paused near Marian, her eyes taking in the lovely pale features of her rival for Robin’s heart. “It is yours, Lady Marian,” she uttered coldly. She gave the other woman the wrapped object.

An abashed Marian jumped to her feet. “What is it?”

“Have a look at it.” Melisende stepped aside, not taking her eyes off Marian’s face.

With trembling hands, Marian undid the wrappings. Her heart sank into her throat as she saw her own old sapphire brooch. For a long time, she was looking at it, almost mesmerized by the shining sapphires. Her lips curled into a wistful smile, and the fierce tears of shame, pain, and humiliation came to her eyes, sparkling like diamonds. Obviously, Robin had given this brooch to his wife or to King Richard before his death, not to Marian; that irked her a lot and, at the same time, deeply saddened her.

A tense silence ensued, and a sense of disquietude stirred in the air. The enormity of what that brooch meant to Marian was taking shape of something akin to an event of a lifetime.

Marian looked at Melisende; her pain reflected in her eyes. “How did you get this brooch?”

Robin’s wife sighed and elucidated, “Robin gave it to Richard before… his death in Imuiz. He used this brooch to unlock the shackles after Richard had mistakenly proclaimed him a traitor and ordered his arrest. Later, he escaped from the Crusaders’ camp and saved his friends, including you, in the desert.”

“Oh my Lord!” a shaken Marian exclaimed.

“This brooch saved Robin’s life in Nottingham. You gave it to him when he had been captured by the sheriff for the first time after being outlawed.” Despite her politeness, Melisende’s displeasure was plainly written across her face. “Now this brooch also saved your life.”

A surprised Marian whispered, “You know so much?”

“Robin told Richard what this brooch means. He asked the king to give it to you,” Melisende informed. “There is nothing wrong in that. Robin was close to Richard and trusted him.”

“He could give it to me when we had our… farewell.”

“It was tactful of Robin to avoid doing that in Sir Guy’s presence.”

Marian swallowed heavily. “Maybe.” She smiled, looking at the brooch. “It is one of Robin’s old gifts. He gifted to me this brooch many years ago, when he courted me before the Holy Land.”

“Now you have it in your possession, Lady Marian. It is yours.”

“Thank you, Lady Melisende.”

An awkward quiet fell over the two women, and the air was vibrating with their churning emotions.

Unexpectedly for herself, Marian asked, “Were you happy with Robin?”

Melisende was silent for a moment as she scrutinized Marian’s face. Her emotions were a tangled skein of love, hurt, and ire; it made her angry that Marian – the woman who had betrayed her husband – dared ask such questions. In a few heartbeats, she pulled herself together, and a reverent smile manifested on her face as she spoke. “I loved Robin with all my heart, and I will love him forever.” The mask fell from her face, and Marian could see the endless anguish in her violet eyes. “I think that I fell in love with him when I met him in the moonlit garden in Limassol. He was lonely and sad, and I could see that he was heartbroken. I was charmed by his handsome appearance and his cheeky smile, by his sincere, pale blue eyes with so many mysteries in their depths. I knew instantly that my heart would never belong to any other man."

“Oh,” Marian breathed.

“Robin told Richard that he could grow to love me over time and that he was very fond of me,” Melisende continued; an expression of despondency flashed across her face. “Maybe it could happen. Nobody knows.”

“I am glad that Robin made you happy.” Marian felt a nervous tremor going through her body.

“Robin was a kind and good man. He would have made any woman happy.” Melisende gave a light smile.

An ashamed Marian felt the heat rise to her cheeks as she recalled what she had done to the deceased hero. “Indeed,” she murmured, lowering her gaze.

Melisende hesitated to speak but then spelled it out. “You are an unusual woman, Lady Marian.”

Marian lifted her eyes and stared at her in bewilderment. “What?”

“You haven’t misconstrued my words,” Melisende assured her. “You are beautiful, clever, intelligent, stubborn, and fearless. You did many great deeds which any other women are incapable of doing,” she said with undeniable respect and paused for a moment. Her face changed into reprehension as she went on. “Yet, you forced Robin to choose between the king and you, between his principles and his love for you. It is not what a well-bred and smart woman should do to her betrothed who is a loyal knight of our king.”

Marian had to blink a few times as a wave of shock ripped through her body. Robin had told his wife everything about them, and that irked her like nothing else. “Maybe I should have acted differently.”

“You wronged Robin.”

Marian recovered her confidence. She confronted the other woman with a stern and haughty look on her face. “Lady Melisende, you are a Plantagenet by birth. That makes you ultimately and unconditionally loyal to King Richard and the Plantagenet house. You view loyalty to England in the same way as Robin did.” Her voice rose an octave. “I don’t belong to any royal family. I look at many things in a different light.”

A deathly silence followed as Melisende surveyed Marian’s proud face. "A wise answer," she said at last. "You are right that Robin and I saw in Richard more than a king and a symbol of sacred royal blood."

“Then we understand each another.”

Melisende continued her verbal assault in an acid voice. “Yet, it wasn’t the right thing to marry another man when you were betrothed to Robin.” She smiled sadly. “But I have to say that I even grateful to you because I had a chance to become a wife of the only man whom I can ever truly love.”

“Thank you for telling me about my faults, but I myself know what to do,” Marian flung back, her voice sounding very unfriendly. Nevertheless, deep down, she knew that Melisende was correct.

“Lady Marian, I have nothing against you,” Melisende spoke in a high voice. “But I admit that I am angry at you because you caused Robin a lot of pain. My husband was a tormented and heartbroken soul. I saw how deeply he was wounded by your… rejection. I felt his pain, and I wished to take it away if I could.”

For a split second, Marian’s visage was imbued with bitterness before she schooled her features into indifference. “You achieved your objective, Lady Melisende. Robin said that he was content and happy in his marriage, when Guy, he, and I were alone in the courtyard.”

“I know. Richard told me about that.”

“Ah, I see.”

Melisende heaved a sigh of grief. There was such a profound sadness in Melisende’s smile that Marian’s heart almost collapsed in her chest. Then Robin’s wife spoke in a philosophical voice. “It sounds hollow and insincere when someone says, ‘I am determined to be perfectly straightforward with you’. It was said by Marcus Aurelius. It is also fair in a real life.”

“Much truth is spoken, but even more may be concealed,” Marian shot back.

The king’s cousin studied Marian critically, thinking that Robin’s former betrothed was truly a unique, unforgettable woman. “You are a remarkable woman, and I understand why you had such a strong hold over Robin. But I want very much to say one thing,” she said in a neutral voice. “I also had my own secret, but I revealed them to Robin in the beginning. Marriage cannot be based on lies and secrets.”

With a knock at the door, Lady Catherine de Mathefelon entered and paused in the doorway. Catherine curtsied to the king’s cousin and announced that the Earl of Leicester waited for Melisende outside. Melisende gave Marian a small smile and bobbled a curtsey, before turning and sauntering towards the door; then she and Catherine both disappeared in the corridor.

Pressing the sapphire brooch to her heart, Marian stared at the closed door. Melisende’s words hung in the air, like an unfinished poem about her and Robin’s love, although her love story with the hero of the woods had been over after her choice to marry Guy. She thought that Melisende was absolutely right in many things. Marian could have never had a warm friendship with Robin’s wife, but she was greatly impressed by the other woman and couldn’t disagree with her on most points. Marian admitted that if Robin had been alive, he would have preferred to be with the king’s cousin, not with her, for Melisende understood him so well. The truths voiced by Melisende were _a blow to Marian’s pride and self-esteem_.

§§§

In several hours, Marian stood on the deck of the ship and watched the yellow coastline of Acre disappear in the distance. They were on the way to England or somewhere else while Robin would remain buried in the desert until the end of the world, far from both Marian and Melisende who would leave the Holy Land soon. A leather pouch was fastened to Marian’s belt, where she had placed the sapphire brooch. Gazing at the widening expanse of the blue-green water, Marian felt that her world and dreams were completely shattered, for Robin was dead, and she couldn’t deny that she blamed Guy and herself for his death.

Suddenly, she remembered about Robin’s ring which he had given her on their first engagement – a stunning silver ring featuring the massive sapphire center carved in the shape of a flower and three small oval cut diamonds set around the sapphire. Marian wondered whether it had been lost in Sherwood, after their last meeting before his departure to the Holy Land, or maybe Robin had found it. Years ago, she had removed and thrown that ring into Robin’s face, but now she would have given anything to have this ring back as it was a token of her memory about Robin and the sweet days of their early youth. For whatever reason, Marian didn’t want to have back her second extravagant engagement ring with a large oval cut emerald surrounded by a sunburst of diamonds; she liked the first ring much more.

Guy approached Marian from the back, his footsteps furtive, quick, and powerful. Like Marian, he watched the disappearing golden sandy dunes that stretched a thousand miles to the west of Acre. His thoughts were occupied with his revenge on Vaisey – the man whom he would kill immediately after their arrival in Nottingham. A mortal hatred surged through him as the memory of Vaisey’s smug, sneering face.

Marian extracted the sapphire brooch Melisende had given her today. She clasped it to the collar of her gown, lingering her finger at the sapphire stone and then taking it away. Before boarding the ship, she had changed her clothes and now wore a plain low-cut gown of dark blue silk with airy sleeves trimmed with lace on the wristbands.

A sob tore out of Marian’s throat. “I cannot believe that Robin is… no longer in this world.” Unshed tears pooled in her sapphire eyes, and she swallowed heavily. “I cannot believe that the sheriff killed him.”

Guy heaved a sigh. “But it is the reality, and you have to accept the fact of his death.”

Marian tossed her head in despair. Her mind drifted back to Robin. “I cannot forget this horror. We could have saved Robin.” She drew a sharp breath, her expression hardening. “You should have killed the sheriff on the board of the ship or in Acre.”

“There were compelling reasons for my action. But he had Isabella and you–”

Marian interrupted him. “Don’t say anything to justify yourself, Guy. I asked you to turn on the sheriff many times, but you always ignored my pleas.”

Guy was conscious of his guilt. “I know. I regret that I didn’t murder Vaisey before.”

“I don’t doubt that the king’s men will deal with Vaisey, but it won’t return Robin alive to us.”

His eyes full of pain, Guy sighed. “I regret Robin’s death, but I can change nothing.”

“Oh, poor Guy,” Marian spoke with irritation. “I once told you that Robin is a good and honest man, despite all the bad things you told me about his not-so-honorable actions in childhood.” She scoffed. “Didn’t Robin prove that on deathbed? Didn’t the king tell you enough about Robin and the mysteries of the past?”

He nodded his assent. “He was a good man.”

“I just don’t want Robin dead. I want him alive and back to us.”

“This is impossible.”

“I hurt Robin so much, but he still forgave me.” She shut her eyes tightly for a moment. “My lies to Robin and to you caused too much pain to both of you.”

Guy’s face suddenly seemed wise, etched with years of experience. “Marian, I cannot say that you didn’t cause us pain. Hurting someone is very easy, but when you yourself are hurt, then know the agony on being hurt and crushed into pieces.” He glanced into her eyes with a sudden exasperation and spoke censoriously. “At least you finally understood that you shouldn’t play with a man’s heart today and break it tomorrow.”

Marian narrowed her eyes at him, and cried out wrathfully, “Excellent! Bravo, Guy! I am being castigated by the man who forced me to deceive you in order to help the people and to protect the outlaws who fed the villagers and saved their lives.” Her lips curved in an unpleasant smile. “It would be kind of you to not criticize me when you should think of your own atonement. Now you are on the right side, but you wronged many people. Your road to redemption will be long and serpentine.”

“You don’t need to remind me that I haven’t redeemed myself yet,” he snapped angrily. But his ire quickly abated. “But I am not beyond redemption, am I?”

“No, you are not.” She smiled sadly, a silent apology in her eyes.  “I am sorry, Guy. I shouldn’t have said that. It is a difficult time for me. I am not sure that I will feel better soon. I need… much time… Too many things happened in the past few weeks.”

Guy sighed resignedly. “I know.” He eyed her, and his gaze fell on the sapphire brooch. “A new brooch? I haven’t seen it on you here, in Acre.”

An embarrassed Marian looked at the wooden deck. "Robin gifted to me this brooch when he had courted me before the Crusade.” She paused and glanced back at Guy, her eyes flashing with pain. She was dithering between her desire to tell him the truth about the brooch’s origins and her unwillingness to remember how it had been returned to her. When she spoke, her voice cracked at first, and she took another moment to calm her emotions. “Robin took this brooch to Acre; he kept it as a token of memory. Lady Melisende gave it to me today. Before his death, Robin asked the king to pass it to me.”

Gisborne took a sharp, angry breath; he looked away at the distant outlines of the walls of Acre. He was silent for a long time while his heart was tearing in half as slowly and painfully as possible. Were Marian’s feelings for Robin unwavering that even after his death, the hero had such a strong hold over her? Yet, Guy noticed that the pain in his heart was not as strong as it would have been a year ago, and that puzzled him.

Summoning all his self-control over his anger, Guy turned his gaze to Marian. “It is so disheartening that you, Marian, can get yourself confused so easily. There is such a mess in your head. You don’t know what you want and feel. Maybe over time you will manage to understand yourself.”

She swallowed heavily. “You are right. I am really lost.”

His heart softened at the sight of her distress. “You don’t want me to stay with you… in your cabin tonight, do you?” He knew the answer in advance, but he wanted to get the confirmation from her.

“I am sorry.” Marian shuddered in mingled disgust and fear at the thought of sharing a bed with a man. After Robin’s death, she didn’t wish to have any intimate contacts with anyone, even with her husband.

Guy murmured with resignation, “I understand.”

Guy looked at Marian for a long, heart-stopping moment, and she was staring at him with eyes full of pain. He wanted to scoop her into his arms, but something told him that right now, she wouldn’t be happy to be physically close to him. Marian was strong, fiery, and proud, and she preferred to suffer in loneliness.

Marian reached out and touched his cheek tenderly. “You are too kind to me, Guy. I don’t deserve it.” She felt remorse for what she had done to Guy and Robin, for the love triangle she had created. “I was confused. I was torn between Robin and you. Even if it does sound strange, it doesn’t depend on me. It just happens.”

He recalled, “Once you told me that we don’t choose those whom we love.”

Tears stung her eyes. “I am going to reveal to you all the truth.”

“What?” He looked worried.

Marian gathered the courage to make her confession. “Guy, I told you that I regretted that Robin and I were together once.”

His eyes burned with the intensity of the knowledge that Marian hadn’t regretted being with his former enemy. “You wanted to be with Robin.”

Marian trembled all over, as if in the last stages of a fever. All she could think about was that she had allowed herself to be torn between the two men, and, in the end, she had become confused even more. “Yes and no,” she gave an ambiguous answer. “Indeed, I permitted Robin to take my maidenhead in the woods on the day of my father’s death.” She blinked back the tears that suddenly welled in her eyes. “Later, I thought that I had made a mistake because we were not married.” She swallowed hard. “But I didn’t regret what we had done, and it wasn’t the moment of weakness because I wanted Robin.”

He gave a nod. “It was not difficult to realize that. I am not a fool, Marian.”

“Guy,” Marian called, staring into his eyes. “The moments of tenderness and passion we shared were real. I genuinely wanted to be with you.”

“Marian,” he whispered her name in a tender voice.

Marian stared at him with pleading eyes. “And now I feel trapped. I need time.”

Guy didn’t move, his heart thumping against his ribcage. There was a lot of pain in his heart, a sensation of an almost physical loss, but somehow he wasn’t utterly devastated and emotionally dead. A heartbroken rage seized him, coursing angry blood through his body, and his heart was aching and bleeding, but it wasn’t broken into many intangible pieces, to his utter amazement. His sorrow and fury then crystallized into a clean, simple, intense sense of purpose – he had to find his redemption on his own.

He used to think that he would die and lose his last chance for redemption if Marian had deprived him of her love. Yet, he accepted that it was not Marian but rather he himself who had to make a final step to the light from the darkness to save his soul from eternal damnation. Guy knew that _he had three saviors – Marian, Robin Hood, and himself_ , and each of them played a different and integral role in the salvation of his lost soul. Now he knew that no love would wash away his sins, like he had thought before.

Guy wasn’t happy with the revelation, but he grasped the roots of Marian’s confusion. He understood that her old feelings for Robin had somehow revived and heightened in the wake of the recent tragedy. After all, tragedies always bring back sentimental moments of the past, he mused, and over time, she would be able to let memories about Robin go. He was shocked by the latest events as well. They both were trapped between the past and the present. They couldn’t get the newly revealed facts out of their lives; they needed some time to grieve and let time soothe their exacerbated nerves.

“You have it,” he conceded.

Marian let out a grateful smile. “Thank you, Guy.”

Guy spoke in a beseeching voice. “Please, don’t say goodbye, Marian. I shall not leave your side as long as we both wish to be together, as long as you need me and I need you. And don’t ask me for forgiveness either; it is not what you should do.”

Pangs of guilt prickled at the back of her mind. “You will probably never forgive me.”

He flashed an odd smile that was tinged with furtive irony and chasmal regret. “We both wronged each other. We both wronged Robin, and he wronged each of us. It is strange, but each of us wronged the two others. That’s what I mean.”

Suddenly, Marian recalled that a feeling of the brokenness of their relationship had assaulted her when they stood in the courtyard and the words of the bitter truth about her and Robin had come crashing down on him like a powerful tornado, changing their lives forever. As this recollection forced itself on her, she felt her heart sink lower than it had been before. Was her relationship with Guy broken without a chance to repair it? Did that fragile connection that had existed between the before the regicide attempt in Imuiz had been broken when they had been in the courtyard? Marian knew that nothing would ever be fine between her and Guy because she had realized that her heart was like a tomb without Robin.

“Guy, I apologize,” she murmured, her guilt rushing over her like a tsunami.

“Don’t be sorry, Marian. I deserved everything bad God may send on my way.”

Marian shook her head. “You are not right, Guy.”

“No, I am right,” he objected. He then tugged at her sleeve and continued, “It is becoming windy. Let me accompany you to your cabin.”

Marian nodded in agreement, and Guy offered her his hand. She accepted it and smiled ever so slightly, but it was a lugubrious smile that veneered all her pain and heartache in his presence. They cast a last glance at the shore and walked away.

Guy didn’t know whether Marian still loved Robin or not; maybe she simply mourned the loss of the hero. His feelings over his future with Marian were conflicted, and he felt that the past was still there, liable to take shape and form, but something was different. He even felt that his future was entirely predestined! Marian and Guy both needed time to contemplate their lives, analyze their feelings, and move on.

§§§

In a few moments, they heard the sound of English voices and the tramp of booted feet. They swiveled and saw Much, Allan, and Little John on the deck, squinting their eyes against the scorching sun. They were not an encouraging sight as there was an air of displeasure and annoyance about them. Only Allan looked quite friendly, but the tightness in his voice and the tension in his shoulders betrayed his uneasiness.

Marian asked them, “How are you doing this morning?”

“Yeah, very well, thank you. I slept very well today. And I am so happy that the king pardoned and rewarded me,” Allan twittered jovially, a smile on his face.

“Did you travel to Acre to get your lands back, Allan?” John asked, glowering at Allan.

A smile momentary gone from his face, Allan stared at the soft aqua sea that foamed along the ship’s side. “I came to Acre to save the king, and we succeeded.”

John’s eyes flashed in anger. “We saved the king, but at what price?”

“Robin’s death,” a depressed Much lamented.

Allan cringed. “Look, mates, I am also in mourning for Robin. I loved him, and I am very grateful to Robin. He saved my life several times and helped me receive the king’s pardon.”

“After you betrayed us,” John threw at Allan. “You are a traitor!”

Guy rolled his eyes at John’s outburst, anticipating denunciatory comments towards him.

“I am sorry,” Allan murmured. At the moment, they all could read in his eyes the guilt that haunted him since his first contact with Guy. “I haven’t forgiven myself yet.”

Marian smiled at Allan heartily. “Allan, you are a good man. Nothing will ever change that.”

Allan smiled back at her. “Thank you, Maz.”

“I can forget about Allan’s betrayal, for he came here and helped us save the king,” Much said, glaring at Guy, his eyes as dark as storm clouds, his face hateful, his teeth clenched. “There is the vilest traitor on this ship! I can barely stand his presence here!”

Marian shook her head. “Much, I thought that your animosity for Guy was over.”

“Never,” Much flung back as he directed a murderous glare at Guy. “You, Gisborne, dare stand here, after your friend, Vaisey, killed Robin?”

“The sheriff is not my friend,” Guy barked, his temper rising.

“Your master,” Much snapped, his eyes filled with venom.

“My former master,” Guy corrected. “I have pledged my loyalty to the king.”

“Whom you, Gisborne, tried to kill twice,” John commented with contempt.

Allan intervened, “Bloody hell, are you gonna stop or not?”

John launched a verbal assault on Guy. “While nothing will return Robin back to life, Gisborne should have been executed. It would be fair to see him die for all his crimes.”

“And why should we stop?” Much continued his angry outburst. “Gisborne is alive, and he was pardoned. Robin is dead, and now Gisborne should be happy. After all, this fiend was trying to kill Robin for almost three years, and his friend, Vaisey, finally did that.”

“Vaisey is not my friend,” Guy reiterated, struggling to keep his temper at bay.

“There is no difference between you and the sheriff,” John glowered.

“If my presence irritates you, I do apologize. It is not my fault that the king wanted us to travel on the same ship.” Guy looked between Much and Little John, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he tried to bring his growing ire under control.

His eyes glistening with visceral hatred, Much exploded, “Bless my heart! Gisborne asks for forgiveness! Your apologies are lies! You will always be evil! Every time I look at you, Gisborne, I remember Robin’s death and the sheriff.” His voice shook with emotion. “When I see you, I want you dead and Robin alive.”

“Much! Enough!” Marian shot the former manservant an irate look.

 Roger de Tosny climbed down the wooden stairs from a higher deck. “Much, take a hold of your emotions,” he interposed. “What is going on? Are you again bickering?”

“I am happy to see you, Roger,” Guy declared, with the heartfelt joy of a man reuniting with his long-lost friend.

De Tosny smiled at Guy, and glanced between Guy and Much. “I see.”

Little John glanced de Tosny. “We are not quarreling. It is just Gisborne!”

“What happened again?” de Tosny inquired.

“Like Much, I can barely tolerate the sight of this man,” John hissed. “His black leather reeks with the blood of innocents whom he killed! I cannot forget how many people in Nottingham suffered because of this criminal. He killed hundreds of innocents in cold blood; he chopped off their fingers and hands; he enjoyed beating them to death; they starved to death because of the taxes which the sheriff and he imposed on the villagers.” His expression changed into utter loathing. “He killed even children! He can kill anyone!”

“I advise that you stop,” de Tosny offered calmly.

“I never killed children,” Guy claimed, his temper getting more soured.

“On the contrary, Guy did everything possible to spare children’s lives,” Marian added.

John made a face. “I will never forgive Gisborne. Not after what he did to Alice and my son.”

Guy seethed with anger, struggling to ward off the urge to punch the big man in the face to retaliate for this groundless accusation. He vaguely remembered Alice from the days when the sheriff had planned to torture all the villagers who hadn’t paid taxes in his “Festival of Pain”, in which Little Little John had acted as one of the main participants. Guy had never caused any harm to John’s wife and his son.

Before Guy was even aware of what was happening, Much already stood next to him. With all the force he could gather, the former manservant hit Guy on the side of the face with his fist. The blow was so strong that it almost sent Guy to the floor, but he kept his footing.

Much snarled, “This is for Robin! This is for all other people who suffered because of you!”

Slightly dazed after the blow, Guy stared at Much’s rage-contorted face. “You are a brave man, Lord Much.” The last words were said with derision.

His eyes full of abhorrence, Much looked like an outraged warrior whose bloodlust was unlimited at the moment. “Gisborne, you must burn in hell, you bloody bastard!” He moved closer to Guy. “You belong to the gallows where all murderers must die a gruesome death!”

“Guy! Much!” a frightened Marian screamed as she stepped between Guy and Much.

“Mates, stop!” Allan appealed to them, looking deeply troubled.

“Immediately stop!” de Tosny commanded.

John was looking at his staff, thinking that he should have punched Guy instead of Much.

“Everyone, stay out of this!” Guy pushed Marian away. The reference to him as a bastard and a murderer enraged him. He spoke in a hissing tone. “Lord Much, you are a brave man to punch me when I don’t expect this! And, certainly, you have good manners for a lord.”

An incensed Much scoffed. “The pot calling the kettle black! You stabbed Robin from the back in the Saracen raid! Only cowards attack from the back!”

Guy broke into a tirade of cussing, and, all of a sudden, launched himself at the former manservant, catching Much off-guard and bringing him to the ground. With a shriek of insane fury, Guy again rammed his fist into Much’s face. Much cried out in pain, but he swiftly jumped to his feet and attacked Guy with a fury that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him and cursing in the most ferocious manner.

Glaring into Guy’s eyes, Much shouted, “Your place is on the chopping block!”

“And yours in the servants’ quarters!” Guy fired back.

Much spiritedly struck Guy across his cheek and spat into his face, and then hit him again with both fists. Cursing in the foulest language imaginable, Guy struck his opponent back in the face and then in the stomach. They traded heavy blows with a surprisingly powerful force, their fists beating each other’s faces, chests, and stomachs. In a minute, Guy had Much pinned to the deck and struck Much into the face again. With a cry of fury, Much began to try to push the heavier man from him and spat into Guy’s face again.

"Stop now! Stop!" de Tosny blustered wrathfully.

"Stop! Please!” Marian pleaded. “You cannot kill one another!"

“A word of advice: we are on the same ship for many weeks, so let’s be civil,” Allan said irritably.

“Maybe it is a good advice,” Little John agreed with a sigh.

The decision was taken from Guy and Much: they were instantly surrounded and separated. Much and Guy struggled against the hands that were dragging them from each other. Much was hurtling venomous insults at Guy who continued cursing like a sailor who figured out all the rum was gone on the ship. Eventually, John knocked angry Much out with the staff and carried him to their cabin, leaving Roger de Tosny, Marian, Guy, and Allan on the deck.

Everyone was relieved that it was over. Much was on the verge of madness in the past few days; he was a shadow of that kind and caring man whom they all remembered. He often lashed out at everyone, and Much’s radical mood swings were wreaking havoc in his life and everyone else's. Much’s hateful attitude to Guy troubled everyone: he was always sarcastic and accused Guy of numerous incredible things Gisborne had never committed. This new Much hated and loathed everyone who had ever hurt Robin.

“Much is getting more and more annoying. At times, I fear that he is slowly losing his mind,” Marian voiced her thoughts. “Robin’s death had a dreadful impact on him.”

Allan sighed heavily. “It is not a justification for his actions.”

“These clashes are terrible and must be stopped,” Roger de Tosny opined.

Guy shrugged his shoulders. “What can we do? I am not attacking him.”

“Guy, we are not accusing you,” Roger soothed. “I will talk to Much today.”

Guy smirked. “I doubt you will succeed, Roger. This man hates me and wishes me dead.”

Roger shook his head. “I am worried about Much. He doesn’t care about his future, himself, and the world. It seems that Much wants to die together with Robin.”

“Well, he was so loyal to him,” Guy recalled.

“Much worshiped Robin,” Marian enlightened.

“But these fights are annoying. They are worse than fights between children,” Allan commented dryly.

De Tosny smiled, his front teeth gleaming in the sunlight. “I knew that Guy would defeat Much. I would bet all my lands and money on Guy in a hand-to-hand combat, except for a combat with Little John and Legrand, may his soul rest in peace.”

Guy laughed bitterly. “Once I had a hand-to-hand combat with Robin Hood in the forest. I wouldn’t say that I won; we ended in a draw.”

A mournful silence ensued as they stood quiet, the chasmal grief over Robin’s death gnawing at their souls. They stared at the horizon where the line between the cerulean sky and the blue water seemed to be almost absent. The gentle waves rhythmically rocked the ship.

Allan entered the silence. “Yeah, Robin was agile and clever. He could do many things.”

“Robin was unique,” Marian summed up, her eyes full of anguish, her voice cracking.

“No doubt.” Guy gazed away. A light breeze ruffled his thick black hair.

“I am sorry, but I want to leave,” Marian murmured. Maintaining a neutral façade with great effort, she swung around and made her way from the dead, heading to her small cabin.

“Women are like sands: dangerous, unpredictable, and enigmatic,” de Tosny jested, although he quickly realized that his joke didn’t diffuse the tension.

Allan sent Guy a compassionate look. “Guy, are you having troubles?”

“Robin’s death,” Guy answered curtly.

Allan shrugged helplessly. “I am sorry, mate.”

“Allan, there is nothing to be sorry for,” Guy replied flatly. “I expected that Marian’s reaction would be similar to the one we observe now.”

Allan gave Guy a bewildered glance. “You expected that?”

Guy nodded his confirmation. “Yes, I did. I predicted that she would be living in her own world with memories of Robin Hood.”

“Guy, all will be alright,” de Tosny soothed. “You will sort everything out.”

“I begin to doubt that it will happen.” Guy was suddenly overtaken by a spontaneous desire to laugh. He threw his head back and laughed.

“Guy, are you alright?” Allan inquired with concern when Guy lapsed into silence.

“I am fine,” Guy assured them. “I am just confused about too many things.”

De Tosny looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Guy veered his gaze to de Tosny. “Roger, my wife was twice betrothed to Robin of Locksley.” His eyes were full of cosmic sadness. “Do you have any other questions?”

De Tosny shook his head, his expression sorrowful. “No, I don’t. I am sorry for asking, Guy.”

Guy sighed heavily. “I am not a woman, but I begin to think that it is impossible to get over Robin.” He let out a strange smile that partly reflected his anguish and partly resignation. He then acknowledged, “There was something really exceptional in Robin Hood, and nobody can deny this. He was an unusual man, and everything original is unforgettable.”

“Guy, you have changed,” Allan proclaimed, his voice tinged with respect. “I never thought that I would ever hear these words from you.”

Guy gave Allan a condescending glance. “Spare me your sarcasm, Allan.”

“No sarcasm, mate,” Allan affirmed. “Guy, I am just pleased that you recognize strengths of your former enemies. I told you that your problem was your inability to see your own faults while blaming others.” He smiled. “You are changing, Guy, and that is really great.”

Guy released a sigh. “I hated Robin because he stood between Marian and me for so long, but now I don’t hate him.” He smiled with a wretched smile. “Instead, I hate myself.”

“You shouldn’t hate yourself, Guy,” de Tosny recommended in a quiet voice. “It will destroy your peace which you finally have after stopping to hate Robin.”

“I have never been at peace. Maybe only death may give me peace,” Guy ruminated, his voice woeful. “I destroyed my own life.” He clenched his fists, angry at himself. “I understand why Marian is constantly thinking of Robin. He did a great many good things.” He laughed bitterly. “And what can everyone remember about me? Only blood, death, and murders. I brought an irretrievable disgrace on my name!”

Allan made an attempt at lifting Guy’s spirits. “Guy, we all have a right for mistakes. You are not going to die tomorrow. You have time to make amends.”

De Tosny nodded. “Allan is right, Guy. You have time to atone for your sins.”

Guy blew out a nervous breath. “I will try to change my life, but I am not sure that I will be able to do that. Too many bad things happened in my life.” He frowned and added, “And I did too many bad things.”

“Guy,” de Tosny called, “you have to forget all the worst in your past.”

“I am not sure that I can, Roger,” Guy answered.

“You must do that for yourself, Guy,” de Tosny insisted. “You can do that.”

“Of course.” Guy gave an exasperated sigh. “I will try to move on after I do some important things.” He dreamt that he would probably be able to lead a normal life after killing the sheriff. His hatred for Vaisey was burning him like a bonfire, but his expression was neutral.

Allan’s face brightened. “Then forget the past and live a full life! I believe in you, Guy.”

“I have always believed in you, Guy of Gisborne,” de Tosny said sincerely to support the man whom he deeply liked since their first meeting many years. “You were just misguided.”

Guy shook his head. "I don’t know.”

“Are you truly alright, Guy?” Roger was not confident.

Guy smirked. “As much as I can be.”

“Hey, Guy, if you need an ear, you can always find a companion in me,” Allan proposed.

De Tosny put a comforting hand on Guy’s shoulder. “Guy, you know that you can count on me. I will always listen to you and help you.”

“Thank you,” Guy responded with appreciation. “I am sorry, but now I need to be alone.” Flashing an apologetic smile, he turned on his heels and hastily left the deck.

The two other men stared after Guy, wondering what was now happening between Marian and Guy. But they had no right to interfere and wished all the best to Guy and Marian.

§§§

During the next several days, the ship stopped in Limassol and Famagusta and then headed to Palermo. The weather was warm for many days, ideal for a long-haul voyage, although at times some storm clouds swirled across the azure canvass, but there was no hint of a storm coming. The journey was smooth and uneventful as everything had been prepared in advance and safe passage had been secured for the travelers at the king’s behest. The vessel was small and old, but all the cabins were furnished well and clean.

Guy spent most of the time in the small cabin which he shared with Allan and Roger de Tosny. Tonight, after spending more than an hour on the deck, he retired to their cabin. Guy found Allan sitting lazily on the bed, looking up at the ceiling and humming something under his nose. Roger was sitting at the only table in the cabin, which was filled with parchments; Guy’s friend was obviously working with the king’s documents.

“Good evening, Guy,” Roger de Tosny greeted without raising his eyes from the parchment.

“Good evening,” Guy’s voice resonated.

“What are you doing, Roger?” Allan lifted himself into a sitting position.

“I am reading through the parchments with King Richard’s instructions which he gave me in Acre,” Roger informed, raising his eyes and briefly glancing at Guy and then at Allan. Then he lowered his head and scanned the king’s handwriting. “I am also going to write to my sister. I want to warn her that I am on my way to Conches, my largest estate. I want to meet my children.”

Guy seated himself into a chair. “You are married?”

“I am a widower.” Roger made a note with an eagle-feathered quill and gazed at Guy. “I am a bad husband. My wife died when I was in the Holy Land.” He let out a sigh of regret. “I didn’t my wife for more than seven years since my departure to Acre, until the day of her passing.”

“Did you marry someone before going to war?” Guy asked incredulously.

“Yes, I did. I wedded a daughter of a Norman baron three years before my departure,” Roger replied neutrally. “I didn’t want to marry at all, and I didn’t love my wife, but I knew that I needed to have an heir.” He rubbed his cheek. “Well, you know how it happens.”

Guy gave a nod. “I understand.”

Roger’s eyes turned languid. “I want to meet my two children whom I haven’t seen for so long. My eldest son is nine years old, and my daughter was born when I was in Acre.”

“Oh, blimey!” Allan exclaimed. “Of course, you want to see your children!”

Roger smiled sadly. “They won’t recognize me now. But at least, I have someone who shares my blood.”

Guy sighed tiredly. “I was in Essex, working for Vaisey, when I heard the rumors that you were in the entourage of Prince Richard.”

Roger stared at Guy, a light smile hovering over his lips. “I assumed that Prince Richard would inherit the throne as the eldest surviving legitimate son of King Henry. Moreover, Richard himself knighted me years ago, and we became friends; I was trained by Lord Walter Sheridan, like many other Richard’s knights,” he said diplomatically. “Moreover, I have always liked Richard much more than John.”

“Sheridan is a traitor,” Allan asserted.

Roger gave a nod. “We know that he betrayed King Richard.”

“Roger, I was really astonished when I heard that you had gone to the Crusade,” Guy admitted. “Why didn’t you remain home?”

“I am a man of duty,” Roger stated proudly. “I will say nothing more on the matter.”

“And how was the Crusade?” Allan’s voice was laced with interest.

Roger glanced away. “The First Crusade ended up with the capture of Jerusalem in 1099. This Crusade was a combination of zealotry, frustration, and greed. The Crusaders massacred men, women, and children in Jerusalem, depopulating it for generations to come.” He shrugged. “All Crusades are similar – every Crusade is a bloodbath. During King Richard’s Crusade, we killed, massacred, and bathed in rivers of blood. We didn’t liberate the holy city, but at least we re-captured Acre, Arsuf, and Jaffa.”

“Roger, do you regret that you went to war?” Guy was curious, although he knew that Roger didn’t want to talk about the Crusade.

“Yes and no,” Roger responded, twisting his fingers. “I would have considered myself a coward if I hadn’t gone to the Holy Land and hadn’t protected my liege. I am proud of being King Richard’s loyal knight and trusted man.” He sighed deeply. “And yet, I am glad that it is over. I thank God every day that I am alive, and that I don’t have to bathe in blood again.”

Allan had another question. “You are done with war, Roger?”

Roger shook his head. “No, I am not. I am going to Conches to spend some time with my kids, but I will have to leave very soon. I will have to join the Earl of Leicester who was appointed the commander of the king’s own forces in Normandy.”

“The war with King Philippe?” Guy stood up and went to the bed. He sat comfortably on the edge, his gaze fixing on Roger.

“Yes,” Roger confirmed.

Allan looked amazed. “Roger, aren’t you tired of fighting?”

Roger folded his arms over his chest. “I am the king’s man through and through.”

“Like Robin,” Allan remarked, his expression sad.

“Yes, like Robin.” Roger crossed himself. “May Robin rest in peace.”

“May Robin rest in peace,” Guy and Allan echoed.

After a long funereal silence, Roger admitted, “Maybe if I had been married to a lady whom I often remember throughout so many years, I would have stopped fighting and spent the rest of my life at one of my castles, sitting near the hearth in boring evenings, helping my wife run my estates, and raising my children.” He laughed. “But it is not my fate.”

“And whom did you remember?” Guy questioned.

De Tosny smiled. “Your sister, Guy.”

Allan’s eyes widened. “Lady Isabella?”

“Allan, I have known Guy for many years. I had met him before he started serving Vaisey,” Roger enlightened with a large smile. “Life is a strange thing, right?”

“Indeed,” Guy agreed.

“I cannot say that I am pleased with what I learned about Isabella,” Roger continued in a lugubrious voice. “I was once besotted with a pretty young girl with large, steel blue eyes and long, dark hair.” His face had a dreamy expression. “I liked Isabella from our first meeting. She was a quiet girl who enjoyed doing her embroidery, but I believed the creativity I could see in her sewing indicated her rich inner world.”

“Isabella was reserved and sullen after the fire,” Guy remarked. “But she changed over time. She was married to Squire Thornton.”

Roger de Tosny gave an ironic smile. “I heard about her marriage very bad things.” He laughed. “If you, Guy, hadn’t left me in Rouen, I would have wedded Isabella in a year or two, when she reached a marriageable age.”

Guy flickered a sideways glance at Roger. “You are kidding me.”

Roger chuckled. “It is not a joke.”

Regret overwhelmed Guy. “It would be better if you married her and I didn’t leave you.”

A confused Roger shrugged. “Guy, I still don’t know why you didn’t stay at my castle even after I was wounded and when I was recovering. I wasn’t going to throw you and Isabella out of my estate.”

“I had… my important reasons,” Guy stammered. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Roger that Vaisey had purchased all his debts and had cornered him.

“As you wish, Guy.” Roger deciphered a painful note in his friend’s voice.

“Isabella’s wedding to Squire Thornton happened in Angers. Thornton is Vaisey’s distant cousin,” Guy confessed, his expression bitter. “Only Vaisey and I attended the wedding.”

De Tosny’s visage was tinctured with sorrow. “I heard a great many awful things about Squire Thornton. If he is Vaisey’s relative, then that explains the unequaled cruelty which many people ascribe to him.”

Guy hung his head in shame. He was overcome with remorse for the ordeal he had put his sister through. If now Isabella were with him in the same room, he would have gladly spent the rest of the night begging her for forgiveness.

Allan thought that they needed to change the topic. “Lady Isabella is now Prince John’s mistress. She must be enjoying court life a lot.”

De Tosny smirked. “Isabella is the mysterious Isabella who was widely spoken about at court. The prince was visiting her in secret. Maybe they needed all this secrecy because Isabella was one of the Black Knights.”

“I didn’t know that!” Guy wondered what else he didn’t know about her sister.

“Prince John kept this snake only for himself,” Allan inferred.

“Something along those lines,” Roger agreed with a sigh. “I was shocked to learn that Isabella had colluded with Vaisey and attempted regicide on King Richard’s life.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I know what happened in the courtyard and why Robin was killed. That’s terrible!”

Guy’s heart was thundering in his chest. “What will King Richard do to my sister?”

“I don’t know.” Roger felt a cold shiver running down his spine as his mind conjured a picture of Isabella’s execution, and he shuddered inwardly. “An angry Richard craves to take vengeance for all these regicide attempts. He swore to execute everyone who signed the Pact of Nottingham.”

“Lady Isabella didn’t sign it,” Allan pointed out.

“Isabella did something worse,” Roger snapped distastefully. “She contributed to the tragedy in the courtyard. If she hadn’t conspired with the sheriff, Robin would have been alive now.”

“I know.” Guy closed his eyes with a sigh for a moment.

Roger took a parchment and stroked it with his fingers. “The king can be merciful, but I have no idea what he is capable of doing to all those who contributed to Robin’s death in any measure.”

The blood drained from Guy’s face. “It is all so sad.”

“Isabella’s husband, Thornton, is also one of the Black Knights,” Roger de Tosny put in. “I heard that now Isabella had a permanent separation from Squire Thornton.”

“Your spies?” Guy arched a brow. “Lady Amicia?”

De Tosny looked shocked. “Goddamn you, Gisborne!” he fumed. “How do you… know?”

“Don’t hurry to curse me, Roger,” Guy shot back. “Be at ease!”

“Who else knows? Tell me the truth, Guy!” Roger demanded harshly. “Her life will be in grave peril if Prince John learns the truth.”

Allan was silent, listening closely to their exchange but understanding nothing.

“Nobody knows. I told nobody,” Guy assured Roger. “I discovered Amicia’s true allegiances when we met in a dark corridor at the Tower of London. We had a long conversation, and I promised to keep her secret.”

Roger was utterly puzzled. “You know Amicia?”

“I met her a long time ago in Normandy. We are old friends,” Guy elucidated, smiling.

Roger comprehended the meaning of his friend’s words. “Just be careful, Guy. Never look at Amicia as a woman. She is not yours.”

Guy frowned. “Amicia told me that she doesn’t want to be John’s mistress.”

“Just don’t look at her as a bedmate,” Roger advised.

An astounded Guy inquired, “Why are you so serious?”

Roger knew that Amicia had been King Richard’s mistress before the Crusade, and Richard was very fond of her. He suspected that the king’s relations with his former lover would start again after their return; Richard always was very discreet about his affairs, including his liaison with Amicia. “Just remember my words, Guy,” Roger reiterated dismissively.

“Naturally.” Guy was puzzled but didn't ask any more questions.

Roger smiled uneasily. “Thank you.”

Guy surveyed Roger attentively. “Do you hate me, Roger?”

“No, I don’t.” Roger shook his head in denial. “I have a thousand reasons to hate and loathe you, Guy. The most compelling reason is that you were a traitor to King Richard,” he declared. “But I cannot hate you. I remember you when I met you in Normandy all these years ago. You and your sister were starving, struggling to survive, and I did really want to help you when I hired you as my squire.”

Guy smiled heartily. “I will never forget what you did for me, Roger. You were one of the very few people who were kind to my sister and me. I owe you an enormous debt of gratitude.”

“You owe me nothing, Guy,” Roger objected, a smile on his face. “When I met you, I understood that your heart, even despite your youth, was full of hatred.”

“Really?” The sheriff’s former henchman looked bewildered.

Allan’s eyes darted between Guy and Roger. He knew that there had been much bad blood between Guy and Robin, and he was interested in details.

“Yes,” Roger confirmed. “Only later I learned your tragic story, and I realized why you hated Robin so fiercely. But I saw that you were a good and disciplined lad who didn’t deserve to live in misery. I admired you for your taking care of your sister.” A wistful look crossed his face. “I was deeply sad when you left my service after my injury.”

Guy informed, “Roger, I was worried about your health. And I was relieved to learn that you recovered.”

De Tosny told Guy seriously, “Guy, you are a good man. You were lost your way in this life, but now you have a chance to lead a different life. Don’t waste this chance after the king was merciful to you.”

Guy’s eyes were shining with regret and gratitude. “Roger, I thank you for everything you have done for me since our meeting in Normandy. You cannot imagine how important to me it is to hear these words.”

“Guy, you must leave the past behind,” de Tosny recommended. “As your friend, I will assist you in all you need.”

“I am also here for you, Guy,” Allan added. “I am your friend.”                                 

There was a cordial smile in Guy’s face. “Thank you very much. I treasure our friendship.” Now he felt a sort of absolute happiness and a sense of peace which he hadn’t felt for so, so long.

§§§

The September morning arose in splendor, and the sun rose above the horizon, flooding the desert with a red wash, like blood on an empty yellow canvas. Near the shore of the Dead Sea, the Bedouins pitched their camp for several days before continuing their way to Jerusalem in a couple of days. The landscape near the Dead Sea was just as arid as it was rocky, and it was dangerous to ride too fast in the desert. In the summer, the scarcity of water forced the Bedouins to be constantly on the move.

The Bedouins’ camp was located near one of the major caravan paths in Outremer. Caravans bore wealth from Acre and Tripoli to Jerusalem, Damask, and Mecca, carrying spices, aromatic oils, and gemstones. When the Bedouins had their camps in the desert, traders felt protected from all enemies in return for a small fee they paid to the poor campers.

The village was alive with the tramp of people and the sounds of cooking, unpacking, and other daily things. Everyone rejoiced that a large caravan had stopped near the camp at dawn and requested protection from robbers on their way to their final destination. Loud laughter and coarse Arabic words rang throughout the desert. It was good for the Bedouins that in the summer, trade in the region of the Dead Sea was very active because there were no storms in the sea and because sandstorms were rare and brief.

A man and a woman stood near one of the many tents in the camp. They were both middle-aged and had the black hair and tanned skin of the Saracens. They were totally engrossed in a conversation, discussing something very important and serious.

“Ali,” Fatima addressed her husband. “It is good that this caravan stopped here.”

The middle-aged Bedouin veered his gaze to his wife. “It is very good, wife,” he replied jovially. “They will pay us some money. We will be able to buy more food for us.”

She was thoughtful for a moment as she tried to find the right words to broach the subject that worried her like nothing else. “I have been thinking about the two men whom we found in the desert,” she began hesitantly. Her voice faltered; she had to stop a moment to control it. “Maybe the caravan will take them to Jerusalem.” A sorrowful look crossed her wrinkled face. “We don’t have money to hire a healer for the man who was so grievously wounded. He is slowly dying, and we cannot save him.”

Ali scowled. “These men are Crusaders.”

“Only one of them seems to be a Crusader – the wounded man,” she agreed.

In the past two weeks, Fatima was patiently taking care of the two young Christians who had been discovered in a lonely cave in the desert after the heavy sandstorm that had transported a dense dust cloud for miles and had killed many people from Acre to Jerusalem. Obviously, one of the Christians was a Crusader, and he had been almost fatally wounded in the stomach; it was unclear how he managed to stay alive with his grave injury after all the adventures in the desert. Another man, not a Crusader, was unconscious and had been discovered in a tight embrace with the first man.

“We should have murdered them. They are our enemies, like all the Christians who came to our lands,” Ali hissed with the naked hatred in his eyes.

Fatima’s eyes reflected disgust as she cried out, “You are despicable!”

Ali parried, “I am fair to the children of their barbarian God – Christ.”

“Melek-Ric made peace with Saladin! They are no longer our foes!” Fatima cried out, her features as hard as stone. “Where is your humanity, Ali? They are human beings! One of them has a grave wound! We couldn’t let him die!”

“Fatima, your willingness to save every wounded man costs us the last piece of bread.”

In a calmer voice, Fatima continued, “The caravan may take these men to Jerusalem. They will take better care of them. The wounded Crusader urgently needs a healer; he has been suffering from a high fever for days; I fear he is almost on his deathbed.”

Ali snickered slightly amused at her suggestion, shaking his head, “Yeah, whatever you say, I won’t change my opinion. I don’t care about the fate of these two men. All Christians must be destroyed because only Allah is a true God. If I have to kill these men in order to get rid of two more Christians, I will willingly do this thing.”

A shocked Fatima blustered, “Don’t think about that! I will never let you murder them!”

He inclined his head, his eyes narrowing with interest. “If we kill them, it will be an easy death for these damned Christians. But I can arrange something much worse for them.” He laughed fiendishly. “I will sell them into slavery and get money for them.”

“Are you serious, Ali?”

Ali shook his head. “I hate Christians so much! I have everything about their religion!”

A shaken Fatima eyed her husband, shaking her head in disbelief mingled with the disgust she felt for her husband at the moment. She stomped towards their small tent, her legs shaking, her chest heaving with rising indignation towards Ali. She entered and stopped at the doorway, looking at the two men who lay on straw mattresses, covered by two blankets. Even if they went to bed fully dressed, nights in the desert could sometimes be so cold that it was impossible to sleep without bedcovers. The wounded man was being ravaged by a wild fever, and Fatima often removed the blanket from his body that was as hot as the sand directly under the blistering sun; she also wiped sweat from his face and chest.

She approached the straw mattress where the injured handsome Crusader lay. She leaned over him and touched his forehead. He needed a medical help to survive. Having some experience in healing, she could easily see that his wound in his abdomen was a mortal one. After the Crusader had been found in the desert, Fatima had cleaned and bandaged the wound, but it was clear that his survival was doubtful because of the huge blood loss, the infection, and the caused damage. She tended to the injury every day, thinking that the man would die anyway, but he was stubbornly clinging to life.

Fatima was roused from her reverie by a quiet groan. She hurried to the mattress of the second man, and her eyes widened in amazement. The young man had regained his consciousness, and now his pale blue eyes were surveying her with curiosity. Apparently, he was stunned by his unfamiliar surroundings.

“Where am I?” the young man asked in excellent Arabic, but with a heavy English accent.

“Near the Dead Sea, in the Bedouins’ camp,” Fatima responded cautiously. She was immensely astounded that he spoke Arabic so fluently and so well. “Who are you?”

“My name is Archer,” he introduced himself, coughing in his fist.   

“I am Fatima,” she said quietly.

“How did we get here?” His eyes darted between Fatima and a feverish Robin. 

“We found you in a small cave. You were lost in the desert.”

Archer blinked hard, as if trying to clear his vision. “Ah, a sandstorm.”

“Yes.”

He flitted his gaze to Robin, and his heart constricted in his chest. “This dead man is my half-brother. His name is Robin. But why is he here? Haven’t you already buried him?”

Fatima was confused. “Why should we bury him?”

“Because he is dead,” Archer said, lowering his gaze, as if in shame.

“Dead?”

“I couldn’t save Robin because I wasn’t not in the place where he was stabbed.”

“He is not dead yet, but I think he will end up dead in any case.”

Archer’s eyes grew wide as he looked over Robin’s prone form, shaking his head in disbelief. “But Robin died! It was a mortal wound! Everyone said that he had died!”

Fatima began her tale. “I am telling you the truth: he is still alive.” She paused and sighed. “When we found you, your brother looked like a dead man. His clothes were soaked with dried blood from the abdomen down, and there was no indication that he was alive; he was pale and unresponsive. We prepared to put him to a grave, one of the gravediggers found it strange that his skin was so hot.”

“And what did you do then?”

“We checked his breathing on the blade of a sword and discovered that he was still alive,” she replied. “Fortunately, we realized he could be alive. Otherwise, we would have buried him, and he would have died in his grave.”

Archer laughed, and his visage glowed with happiness. His most cherished dream was coming true: Robin was alive and had a chance to survive. “And what happened then?”

“We took both of you to the village,” Fatima continued. “I tended to your brother’s wound, but it is very serious – it is grave. He has been unconscious since then; he has a fever.”

There was still disbelief reflected in his eyes. “So he… is really alive?”

“ _Barely alive_ ,” she pointed out glumly. “If he… survives, he will need a long time to recover.”

Looking at Robin, Archer rubbed his eyes as if he had witnessed an apparition. But Robin was not a figment of his imagination: he was indeed in this tent, and he was not dead. Archer’s heart sang like a lark as a sense of belonging swept through him, and for the first time in his life, he felt what it was to have a brother, which brought a blend of sheer joy and ambrosial gladness into his soul. Robin’s quiet groan confirmed that he was alive, and, for Archer, it was like a herald of a warm, ebullient spring coming after a long, cold winter.

His mind reverting to Fatima had told him, Archer inquired, “How long are we with you?”

“For more than two weeks,” Fatima answered.

Suddenly, he broke into a coughing fit. “Damn!”

“Your cough will get better quickly. You seemed to have spent too much time in that cave, and you caught a cold. You were feverish for about two weeks.”

He politely dismissed her concern. “Thank you for worrying about me, but I am alright.”

“You speak Arabic so well,” she observed.

Archer grinned. “Your language is not difficult to learn. I spent many years in the East, most of the time in the Byzantine Empire.” His gaze slid to Robin. “Robin also spent more than five years in the Holy Land. He fought for King Richard.”

“Melek-Ric?” a frightened Fatima asked.

“Uh-huh,” Archer muttered.

There was a naked terror in her black eyes. "Oh God, please don't pronounce this name! My husband will kill you! He will sell you to slave traders! He hates the barbaric Melek-Ric!"

Archer pointed at Robin. “This man is one of King Richard’s most prominent generals and the Lionheart’s his friend as well.”

“My husband will murder you!” she repeated in horror.

He laughed at her, tilting his head to one side. “He cannot harm us in any way! Otherwise, King Richard and Saladin will kill him and all your tribe in vengeance.”

Fatima gaped in bewilderment at his words. “Who is he?”

“He is the legendary Captain Locksley. He is Sir Robin of Locksley, Earl of Huntingdon,” he responded in a voice tinged with pride, to his own surprise. “He is the man responsible who brought peace to the Holy Land.”

Robin’s name worked like a magic: the old woman smiled widely as she veered her gaze to Robin. Stories about the bravery, valor, and humanity of Captain Locksley had traveled even to the heart of the desert. She glanced back at Archer. “Really? Is he… Captain… Locksley?”

A lock of light brown hair drooped over his forehead, giving him a boyish appearance. “Yes, he is Captain Locksley. He has a powerful name, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.” Fatima looked at Robin with adoration. “But he is so young to be a Crusader hero.”

“Oh, believe me that he is Captain Locksley,” Archer assured her with a large smile. “When I first saw him, I had the same opinion. My first thought was that he looks like a boy, not a Crusader hero. He just has a lean build and a strikingly handsome, boyish face.” He chuckled. “My appearance is also a little boyish. But it is so good to look younger than your years.”

She felt obliged to notify him about Ali’s evil intentions. “You need to know one thing: my husband is going to negotiate a deal with the caravan.”

Archer raised a puzzled brow. “What kind of a deal?”

“He wants you to be enslaved.”

His anxiety growing, Archer listened attentively to Fatima about her husband’s plan for Robin and him. “We are so far from Acre,” he lamented.

“Young man, we are Bedouins and lead a nomadic life,” she supplied with a touch of some displeasure. “We found you and took you with us as we traveled from the coast to the Dead Sea. We had to move you with us; otherwise, you would have died in the desert.”

“I know, and I thank you for help from the bottom of my heart.” He was silent for a moment as he pondered over a course of action. Then he affirmed resolutely, “We have to leave. How can we get to Jerusalem?”

Eyeing him suspiciously, she asked, “What are you going to do?”

Archer elaborated, “I will take Robin and ride to the holy city. One day of transportation won't make much difference if his grave wound and that sandstorm didn’t kill him.”

“Hmm,” Ali spoke as he entered the tent. “You will go nowhere! You are my captives! My Christian prisoners!” Pausing, he cast a brief glance at Robin, and his eyes shone with greed.  “I won’t allow you to leave when I know whom I have in my camp!”

A horrified Fatima stated, “Ali, you cannot do that!”

“I heard that this man is Captain Locksley,” Ali declared, pointing at Robin. “I am going to have both of you ransomed. At least your miserable lives will give me a good fortune!”

Archer parried menacingly, “I will never let you do this vile deed.”

Ali’s ire spiked like a swift tide of lava inside him. “You are a fool! I will kill you for your foolishness!” He then rushed to Archer. Sneering, his eyes narrowed, he placed the dagger against Archer's throat. “I will kill you like your barbarian king killed thousands of the Saracens in our lands.”

“Ali! Please stop!” a scared Fatima pleaded.

“Stay out of this, woman,” Ali hissed between clenched teeth.

Archer scoffed. “Ali, you are a weakling incapable of killing anyone,” he taunted. “You are also a clodhopper who doesn’t know how to treat women, even your own wife.”

“Ali, please…please…” Fatima begged, fearing to come closer to her enraged husband.

Archer and Ali ignored her pleas. Ali pressed the blade to Archer’s throat more tightly, but Archer was smiling in spite of feeling the blade bite into his skin.

Ali’s eyes were blazing with hatred. “I killed many times in my life.”

“I doubt that you have ever seen a swordsman whom even Gods themselves cannot defeat,” Archer teased. An easy smile was hovering over his mouth, but there was a deadly glint in his eyes. “As you know who my wounded brother is, you should remember his reputation.”

"I overheard his name," Ali muttered morosely. “It matters not. He is a damned Christian.”

"No?” Archer feigned astonishment. “Are you so chivalrous that you will kill a weak and injured man? Then why do I feel that your body is trembling?"

"I killed many Christians,” Ali hissed, pressing the blade to Archer’s throat.

“But you will never kill us,” Archer returned in a deadly voice. “I know this for sure.”

Unexpectedly, Archer kicked Ali in the stomach, and the Bedouin howled with pain, cursing his attacker in Arabic. Archer snatched out the dagger from his hands before it could find a new mark on the skin of his throat. In the next moment, Archer rammed his fist into Ali’s face and then struck him in the groin. Ali moaned and doubled over in pain; he was barely able to think of anything but the pain in the groin.

Archer put his hand roughly on his foe’s mouth. “Your greed killed your death.”

Ali’s eyes widened in a mixture of pain and horror as Archer sliced his throat. Ali gurgled with his own blood, and Archer plunged the dagger into his throat deeper. The body of the villain began to twitch and shake in the throes of death, and then he went still.

Fatima couldn’t repress a cry of horror. “You killed him!”

“I am sorry. I had to do that,” Archer defended himself, his voice soft, his eyes apologetic. “Otherwise, he would have probably murdered Robin and me.”

Transfixed with horror, she advised, “You must escape, or my tribe will execute you.”

“I would be grateful for a cart and a horse,” Archer requested.

Fatima slowly nodded. “I… will give you everything. Just take him and go.”

“Of course, I will leave. My brother needs help; he will die here.”

Archer was surprised how easy it was to call Robin his brother. The troubles they had survived through together created a connection between them, and just having this link to someone of his own blood was like nothing Archer had ever dreamt in even his most idyllic thoughts. His conscience was heavy, his guilt bitter and discomfiting, and he regretted that he had dreamed of Robin’s death.

Fatima rushed to the corner of the tent. She rummaged among rags until she found the clothes she had repaired for Robin and Archer while they had been unconscious. Then she returned to Archer and handed the things to Archer. “Take these clothes. Yours and his.”

“Repaired?” He arched a brow.

“Yes,” she said with unconcealed impatience. “Take your weapons and your brother’s things – his blood-stained Crusader tunic, the mantle he was wrapped in, and his jeweled belt.”

Archer smirked as his gaze fell on King Richard’s luxurious mantle; it was good to have it because it would make his task less complicated to prove Robin’s identification. He let out a grateful smile, and then started dressing in the same clothes which he had worn on the day of the regicide attempt in Imuiz; it had been fixed by Fatima while he had been feverish.

When he finished, Archer approached the widow, and spoke in most sympathetic tones. “I am sorry that I killed him.” He put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

The astonished woman stared at him in shocked disbelief that Christian had apologized. “Ali wanted to take your lives. He didn’t want to take your from the desert, but I insisted.”

“I will think of how to repay my debt to you,” Archer offered.

“Just leave,” she entreated.

Archer smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

The sun was high in the sky when the cart loaded with several loaves of bread, several flasks of water, and the body of Robin Hood, who was wrapped in the king’s mantle, departed from the Bedouins’ camp. When the cart began to move, desperate screams and curses were heard from the incensed Bedouins who must have already discovered Ali’s lifeless body. Without a backward glance, Archer pulled the horse's reins and quickly rode off into the desert. They seemed to have gone unnoticed by the robbers and the Bedouin spies due to their luck or to else the Lord who was leading them to Robin’s salvation.

Archer spent a lot of time on his horse while Robin rested in the cart, as they were passing village after village and oasis after oasis, moving in the direction of Jerusalem. Robin was as quiet as a grave; he was unconscious and feverish, and no sound was coming from him, which frightened Archer. They rode in a deep, ominous silence without stopping anywhere, except when Archer checked on Robin’s heartbeat for a moment. When, finally, a burning thirst consumed him, Archer made a short stop near a deserted village.

Archer hopped down from his horse and approached the cart. He took a flask of water and opened it; then he leaned over the cart closer to Robin. Lifting his head, Archer brought the flask to Robin’s dry lips and parted them; then he poured some water into Robin’s mouth. Archer looked at a half-empty flask of water, praying that they would reach the holy city sooner than they would die from thirst. They also had only a little food left.

All of a sudden, Archer heard a barely audible moan coming from Robin. His eyes filled with incipient hope, and his heart was beating with excitement. “Robin! Robin!” he called.

Robin’s eyes flung open, his gaze glassy. “Where... am… I?” His voice halted.

Archer had never been so overjoyed before. “Robin! You are alive!”

Robin tried to move, but he almost doubled over in pain, and Archer had to restrain him.

“Oh,” Robin moaned, feeling dizzy.

“Don’t move,” Archer admonished. “You are wounded.”

“Imuiz… the king… the sheriff...” Robin’s voice was shaking.

“You were in Imuiz, but you are not there now. We were lost in the sandstorm, and now we are going to Jerusalem. I will find a healer there,” Archer blurted out in a rush.

“Prince Malik,” Robin whispered.

“What?”

“Find him. I saved his life once.” Robin then closed his eyes.

“Robin, it makes our life much easier. This prince will find a competent doctor for you.”

Darkness was thickening in his head, and Robin passed out. Archer touched Robin’s forehead and groaned in frustration as his brother’s skin seemed hotter than before. Was Robin’s fever intensifying? As Archer observed him during the next few minutes, Robin was hot and sweaty one moment, the next shivering like a leaf in the wind. With a sigh, Archer covered Robin with the king’s mantle; then he mounted and pulled the reins, and the cart began to move.

Archer hoped that Robin would survive the journey to Jerusalem. The salvation of Robin’s life became the most important thing in the world for him. It was his way to atone for his participating in Vaisey’s regicide attempt and for the conglomeration of negative feelings for Robin which he had carried in his heart since his meeting with Malcolm in Jerusalem. It was probably the first time in his life when Archer prayed that God would be generous not to him but to someone else, and would bless his sanctified mission to save Robin Hood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guy, Marian, Allan, Much, Little John, and Roger de Tosny sailed from Acre. I think that the confrontation between Much and Guy was inevitable because Much hates Guy and cannot forgive him for stabbing Robin from the back in the Saracen attack and even for the fact that Guy is alive while Robin is “dead”. I believe that Much is behaving in character: he is hurting after Robin’s supposed death as Robin was everything to him, and at times people might be blinded by their pain. Out of all Robin’s friends, Much is the least likely person to accept Guy as an ally, but I promise that the tension will diminish, and Much will begin to treat Guy civilly.
> 
> Marian and Guy are confused with their feelings, emotions are bubbling inside them, and their minds are reeling after the dark revelations of the dark mysteries of the past. They are trapped between the present and the past. Try to imagine yourself in their situation, and you will realize why they are so confused and why they experience such emotional pain.
> 
> Starting from this chapter, Guy’s character arc becomes the change arc with a focus on Guy’s redemption, which is possible only after Guy experienced complete emotional wreckage and was utterly broken after the revelation of the truths about the past. He no longer hates Robin, so his good words about Robin don’t sound out of character to me; especially not after Guy’s dramatic reconciliation with Robin Hood on Robin’s deathbed. Guy accepts his own faults and start blaming himself for his misery and unhappiness, which is obvious in this chapter.
> 
> I hope you liked the story about Robin’s survival. Archer and Robin are no longer in Acre because Bedouins lead a nomadic life and always travel in the desert, which explains why Robin and Archer were not discovered by the king’s men. I said once that Archer has his own role in regicide, and now you see what I meant – he saves Robin’s life and delivers him to the holy city. Robin couldn’t be alone after he had been lost in the sandstorm, so I decided that Archer would save the hero and by doing this, redeem himself. The cave, where Robin and Archer were discovered, protected from a furious sandstorm.
> 
> Now Robin fans must be happy because Robin is really alive. But I have to disappoint you because there is nothing interesting about Robin in the next chapter because he is feverish. Interesting things begin when Robin’s fever breaks, and he wakes up a different man – Robin’s character arc becomes the change arc with a focus on his disillusionment.


	12. Tables Turned

**Chapter 12**

**Tables Turned**

The sun was close to setting when Archer took notice of the walls of Jerusalem, the holy center of the world, looming up in the distance. Several guards stood by the New Gate in the northern part of Jerusalem; they were Saladin's soldiers, as well as several Knights Templar. One of the soldiers came to Archer's cart and took the bridle of his horse. The white-clad Knights Templar behind Saladin’s guard instantly drew their swords and held them in Archer’s path.

“May we pass?” Archer inquired in Arabic.

“Do you have Melek-Ric’s banner?” The Saracen was astonished that Archer spoke Arabic fluently.

Archer didn’t understand the implication of his words. “What?”

“You are English, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Archer replied.

“Where is King Richard’s banner?”

Archer shook his head. “I don’t have it.”

“Then you cannot enter.”

“I have a wounded man in my cart. He is one of Melek-Ric’s main men, and he once saved the life of Prince Malik,” Archer said everything he knew about for Robin.

The Saracen eyed him suspiciously. “Liar! You just want to get into the city and then rob someone.”

Archer smiled crookedly. “Hey, I know that I don’t look very presentable, but I am not a thief.”

“What is going on here?” the Knight Templar questioned as he approached the cart.

“I have a gift for you – Captain Locksley is in this cart,” Archer declared proudly. “You are a Knight Templar. You should know him well. He killed your former treacherous Grand Master in a duel.”

“Robin of Locksley died in Acre,” the knight declared.

Archer grinned. “Did you see his body? I thought that he had been lost in the sandstorm.”

The Templar looked startled. "You are right; they didn’t find Captain Locksley, and they are currently digging everything around Acre at King Richard’s order.” A sigh tumbled from his lips. “But Locksley is surely dead. He was a brave man; it is a great pity that he died.”

“I have him here.” Archer’s gaze flew to the cart. “He is alive, but only barely alive.”

“Let’s go and check," the knight conceded.

Two Knights Templar and two Saracen guards stared in blank amazement at the motionless body wrapped in the king’s mantle; the Lionheart’s well-known colors – red and gold – and an emblem of three lions emblazoned on the front of the mantle proved that the mantle belonged to the King of England. It was patently obvious, from the expression in their eyes, that they were utterly bewildered.

The Knights Templar exchanged quick glances. “This is King Richard’s mantle,” one of them said. “Do you have something else to prove that he is Sir Robin of Locksley?”

“We have never seen him in person, watching him only from a distance,” another Templar enlightened.

Archer immediately found Robin’s Crusader tunic in the cart; it was blood-stained and torn apart on the front. The Knight Templar took it in his hands and scrutinized it. As he saw the insignia of the captain of the private guard on the sleeve of the tunic, his face turned shocked, but then he smiled joyfully.

“Let them pass,” the knight instructed, a look of surprise on his face.

“Is he Captain Locksley?” another knight asked.

“Looks like Locksley is alive,” the same knight said, his eyes worriedly taking in Robin’s paleness.

"Yes! He is alive!” Archer answered fervently. “He asked me to take him to Prince Malik.”

The Templar frowned. “Why? We have our own physician.”

“His wound is grave. I doubt that your doctor will be able to help him,” Archer insisted.

The knight shook his head disapprovingly. “Hiring a Saracen doctor for the high-ranking king’s man is an awful idea!”

An annoyed Archer ruminated, “Robin is captain of the king’s private guard and King Richard’s beloved friend. The king would have done everything to save him, and Robin needs the best help possible. He must be saved.” He cocked his head to one side. “Yeah, the safest doctor to treat you is a Saracen medic, the next safest no doctor at all, and the surely fatal one is Frankish.”

“But Captain Locksley is a Christian general!” another Knight Templar pointed out. He was clearly Norman, for he spoke English with a strong accent. “It is blasphemy if he is treated by the Saracens.”

Archer grinned haughtily. “I think that you should keep your thoughts to yourself. Whatever you say, Captain Locksley himself wished to be delivered to Prince Malik in Jerusalem.” He arched a sardonic brow. “The wish of such a high-ranked man and general is a command, right?”

The Templar Knights scowled at the young impudent Englishman, but nodded in agreement. One of the knights commanded to let Archer’s cart enter the Gates of Jerusalem, and then another man barked his instructions to surround the cart and escort it to Saladin’s palace in the center of the city.

They rode towards the center of Jerusalem, passing numerous narrow cobblestone streets, and stopped on the Temple Square; their journey there was smooth because they were accompanied by Knights Templar. Soon they neared the Temple Square and then turned to another street. They made their way to the area of the Temple Mount and soon stopped near the luxurious ancient palace.

Dressed in exquisite rich robes of ruby silk adorned with gemstones on the front and a white turban on his head, Prince Malik appeared before Archer and the Knights Templar angry and bewildered, his hazel eyes glittering dangerously. He was very displeased because he had been awoken by his servants who had notified him that someone had claimed to have brought the wounded Robin of Locksley; at first, he didn’t believe that Robin could be alive.

Malik looked at Robin with wide eyes filled with mixed feelings of disbelief, amazement, and joy. They had no time for useless imprecations, for Robin was sick and they had to think of saving his life. The prince commanded to bring Robin’s body into the guests’ quarters. Archer and a young Knight Templar together carried Robin through the great hall, decorated in austere colors of black and white, the walls and arched ceilings adorned with beautiful stone-worked carvings; then they climbed a sweeping staircase to the upper floor, and headed to the west wing of the palace.

The magnificent interior of the spacious bedchamber, decorated in vibrant colors with heavy, rich fabrics and intricately detailed lighting fixtures with fantastic lanterns, created a romantic environment of Middle-Eastern fairy-tale. Yet, Malik, Archer, and Yussuf, the prince’s personal physician, had a grim mood, looking at Robin’s lithe form that seemed breathless and lifeless in the dim, flickering light of the candles. As the doctor examined Robin and then cleaned up his wound, his features turned morbid and his mood was decidedly foul.

“If King Richard knew about Robin’s survival, he would travel to Jerusalem,” Archer assumed.

Prince Malik heaved a sigh. “I doubt that Melek-Ric is in Acre. As far as I know, he should have already sailed from Acre.” He looked at the physician who was tending to Robin’s wound. “Tomorrow, I will send a messenger to Monsieur Henry of Jerusalem, Count de Champagne.”

“Thank you,” Archer whispered.

“Can you save him?” Malik asked quietly.

“I don’t know. It is a sheer miracle that he is alive,” Yussuf replied quickly as he bandaged the wound. “Too much time has passed since he was wounded. The infection has taken its toll on him.”

“Yussuf, save him,” Malik appealed in a low, husky voice, tight with emotion. “We owe him peace in the Holy Land. I owe him my life and freedom. He must live.”

“I will do everything I can, but I am not Allah,” the doctor said gravely.

The prince nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

"He has a slim chance to survive," Yussuf said mournfully. "But he is a fighter.”

Malik shook his head. “He is a God’s warrior.”

Yussuf smiled slightly. “He is a blessed man. Any other man would have already died.”

"God wills he will live," Archer stated with confidence.

Malik seated himself into the chair, his expression curious. “Who are you, young man?”

An involuntary smile curved Archer's lips, his eyes glowing mysteriously. “I am the Lord of the East, though not as rich and great as your Uncle Saladin, my prince,” he retorted.

“Well, I see that your adventure in the desert hasn’t addled your wits,” the prince said with a light smile.

Archer looked away, embarrassment and guilt crawling through him. “I am Archer of Locksley,” he said after a long pause. “I am Robin’s secret half-brother.”

There were such mingled intense conviction and deep embarrassment in Archer's voice that a faint flicker of interest showed in the prince's eyes. "Tell me about it,” he said finally. “We have time.”

As Prince Malik sent his messenger to Acre, Henry II of Jerusalem, King of Jerusalem and Count de Champagne, appeared in the holy city in several days, shocked that Robin had been discovered alive. Impressed with Djaq’s medical talent she had displayed when she had professionally taken care of King Richard’s arrow wound, de Champagne brought Djaq and Will to Jerusalem. However, Henry left for Acre in several days, asking to keep in touch with him through his trusted messenger. They decided not to make the fact of Robin’s survival public at the stage when his life was in grave danger.

Djaq and Will stayed in Jerusalem, and the young Saracen physician joined Yussuf in their desperate attempts to fight with Robin’s infection and save his life. Djaq and Yussuf regularly tended to Robin’s injury, spending countless hours near an unconscious and feverish man.

Robin of Locksley plunged into oblivion, as if he were drowning in the unfathomable, ebony darkness that surrounded him from all the sides for many days. He was everywhere at the same time – in hell, in purgatory, in paradise, and on Earth. He was simultaneously in a deathlike sleep and in harsh reality with the undertone of whimsical strangeness. It was not clear whether Robin would cheat death again: Yussuf and Djaq thought that Robin's chance to survive was very slim.

Robin’s health slightly improved during the next few days mainly thanks to Yusuf’s magic manipulations of the wound and the use of special medicinal herbs. But later, Robin's condition again worsened: redness around the wound and increased swelling were signs of a continuously developing infection, and soon the fever intensified, the temperature of his body skyrocketed.

Djaq and Yusuf Robin had really died but then had miraculously come back. Robin’s heart had stopped beating in a regular rhythm for a little while his breathing and blood circulation had also ceased. But as most tissues and vital organs could survive death for some time, his body had begun functioning normally as soon as his heartbeat had restarted in a short while. The semblance of death had been caused by the shock Robin’s body had sustained when he had removed the sword from his abdomen.

Yussuf and Djaq said that Fatima had taken a good care of Robin’s wound, stating that if she hadn’t cleaned it and tended to it every day, Robin would have already died. The two medics determined that the blade had injured Robin’s liver and slightly his spleen, but it had miraculously missed the small and large bowel, thus, limiting the extent of the internal damage. Undoubtedly, the major blood vessels had been damaged, which had resulted in serious bleeding.

Unfortunately, the abscess formed in the area of the wound. To save Robin’s life, Djaq and Yussuf had to cut the wound open again and remove some rotten flesh; an alternative was Robin’s impending death from infection. After that, Robin again had severe bleeding, and they had to cauterize the wound in order to seal the torn blood vessels. The same had happened to Robin in Acre over two years ago when he had contracted a high fever after Gisborne had stabbed him in his left side; his flesh had been removed to prevent further contamination, leaving him with an ugly scar as a reminder of the attack.

In the next weeks, Robin was very close to death. A wild fever ravaged his body, and his wound was raw again. Gripped by nightmares, Robin tossed and turned in his bed, and at times bloodcurdling howls of pain erupted from him. If he was not touched, he only quietly moaned in pain. Djaq and Yussuf often noticed small tears in Robin’s closed eyes. To lessen the pain a little bit and let the wound heal, Robin was given opiates, although only in small doses not to risk making him addicted to them.

Archer was always somewhere around. Archer gave the long tale about their adventures in the Bedouins’ camp, and everyone was astonished to learn that he of all people had saved Robin’s life. Although Archer told Malik about his true blood relationship with Robin, he requested that the prince keep that to himself for a while. Like Archer, Prince Malik often visited Robin, always hungry for positive news and always saddened with its absence.

A feverish Robin of Locksley was locked in a fierce battle with the most powerful and vicious enemy – death. The goddess of death was knocking at his door, smiling at him and inviting him to take her hand and go into the world of shadows with her, but the goddess of life didn’t let him go, looking at him with pleading eyes and whispering that it was not his time to die. In some moments, he was at peace even in the frightful darkness, enjoying the unforgettable sensations of absolute bliss and happiness. He was in the world of complete unreality, and yet everything seemed so real.

Robin’s fevered dreams were dreadful and heartbreaking, and his body was aflame with pain. His mind was a constant tapestry of mourning because he could hear desperate moans of the people whom he had killed, anguished cries of those whom he had loved and had lost, loud sobbing of his friends grieving the loss of him, and quiet prayers for his immortal soul that had been so damaged by the holy war. His painful trance was like a profound and angry melancholy that gripped his heart.

Through the thick fog, Robin could hear a quiet voice in the back of his head that spoke to him, saying that he had to live for England, for King Richard, for Melisende, and for his friends. The voice was toneless and infinitely sad, but still encouraging him to fight with the darkness. The same voice whispered to him that King Richard, Melisende, and Marian needed him to save them. That voice assured him that he could fight and take on the world on his own.

In a month after Robin’s delivery to Jerusalem, Saladin ordered to gather a counsel of competent physicians, but they answer was that Robin would most likely die from a fever and that he wouldn’t regain his consciousness. Nevertheless, the orders were not to give up on Robin, even if the case seemed hopeless. Saladin, Malik, and everyone prayed for his survival every day.

At times, Robin had dreams about Marian and Melisende, and each of these dreams summoned a ghost of a boyish grin on his face. Yet, the majority of the time he wandered on the battlefields of Outremer, among his enemies. The worst of all his nightmares was about the capture of Acre by King Richard’s troops when Robin had been bathing in an ocean of blood. In such moments, Robin unconsciously begged God to let him die a quick death instead of a long, painful death for all his killings and atrocities he had carried out with his sword; he often spoke about death aloud.

“This man is feeling so guilty of killing the Saracens, not like other Christians,” Yussuf, the prince’s physician, once told Djaq, with a look of utter surprise on his face. “It is quite inept for him, given his high station at Melek-Ric’s war court.”

Djaq smiled, looking at Robin with adoration. “Robin is not like others.”

“Definitely not.”

“Robin saved my life in England. If not for him, I would have died.” Djaq leaned down and wiped off sweat from Robin’s forehead with a damp cloth.

“My two younger brothers were killed by the Crusaders, Melek-Ric’s men, who came to our village. They burned our house, and my brothers died in the fire,” Yussuf said, his voice slightly shaking. “I hated all Christians since then.” He pointed at Robin. “But this man is so different.”

“Robert de Sablé’s people killed my twin brother and my parents, and then Christian slave traders brought me in chains to England. I also hated all Christians before I met Robin and my English friends.”

“I have heard that this man achieved peace with our Sultan. Prince Malik calls him his dear friend.”

Djaq nodded. “It is true.”

“This man seems unreal to me.”

Djaq soaked the cloth and put it on Robin’s forehead. “I had the same sensation at first.” She smiled knowingly. “But then I learned more about Robin, and I was no longer surprised. I began to respect and love him. I stopped hating Christians only because of him.”

"Maybe I will follow you on this path," Yussuf presumed.

Later Yussuf left, leaving Djaq with Robin who was gripped by a new fevered dream, tossing his head on the pillow. His slim frame shivered under the silk sheets and every muscle of his body knotted in fear. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Djaq swept her eyes over Robin’s motionless form, her gaze fixing on the bandage wrapped around his torso. Robin started moving, moaning in pain, his hands roaming over his body. Djaq cupped Robin’s head and brought a cup to his lips, making him swallow the liquid.

"Much! Much! Saracen raid! The king is under attack! Much!" Robin cried out, and a quiet moan escaped his lips. “Go and get help, the king’s tent! Go! Much! Now!”

Djaq sighed. She leaned down and started stroking Robin’s hair that was soaking wet with sweat. “Robin, you stopped the attack. You saved King Richard from Gisborne in Acre and from Vaisey in Imuiz,” she told him as if he could hear her.

Robin’s expression was pained for a moment. “The king… King Richard…”

Djaq smiled sadly. “Robin, King Richard was so grief-stricken with your death, and he will be very happy to learn about your survival. You must recover because everyone needs you alive.”

The door flung open, and Prince Malik came inside the chamber, with Archer trailing behind him; they befriended each another very quickly because Malik was really interested in Archer’s past and, particularly, in his adventures in the East. Djaq immediately knelt to the prince, her head lowered in a respectful bow. The prince dismissed her with a wave of his hand, and approached the bed. Will came to Robin’s bedchamber in a short moment.

"I came to see my dear friend," Prince Malik said with deep affection in his voice, his eyes full of anguish. "How is Robin? Are there any changes?"

“Nothing has changed yet,” Djaq replied, regret creeping into her voice.

The prince sighed. “As usual.”

His brow furrowed, Archer veered his gaze to Robin. “So he is as close to death as he was yesterday.”

“Allah won’t take Robin’s life. ‘ _And it is He who gives life and causes death, and His is the alternation of night and day’ is written in Koran_ ,” Malik said in a loud, steady voice.

Archer breathed a sigh of frustration. “Poor Robin.”

Djaq smiled at Malik. “It is also written in Koran that _‘It is He who has created death and life that He might try you – which of you is best in deeds; and He is the Mighty, the Most Forgiving.’_ And I want to believe that Robin is best in deeds alive than dead.”

“Allah wishes him to live,” Malik said confidently.

"The sheriff! The sheriff!” Robin nearly screamed. “I cannot let him kill King Richard!”

“We will kill the sheriff,” Archer promised. He clenched his fists in anger. “I would have killed him right now if he were in this room.”

“Should we send a messenger to King Richard?” Will intervened.

“I don’t think that it is a good idea,” Prince Malik broke in. “You know that Melek-Ric is on his way to England. We don’t know what his route he took. We should wait at least until Robin awakes.”

“It is better to wait,” Djaq agreed. “Robin will awake not in a good condition, and he will be unfit to travel for quite some time. But at least we will be able to inform the king that Robin is alive.”

Malik shook his head approvingly. “It is the best course of action.”

“Well, if you think so,” Will said.

"My brother… the king… the sheriff…" Robin moved his body and groaned in pain. “No, no! I cannot let Vaisey kill Richard, and I cannot kill him either.”

Startled amazement momentarily manifested on everyone’s face.

“What is he talking about?” Archer asked. His heart was beating faster as he wondered whether Robin had known about his existence.

“He once said the same,” Will added. “But Robin doesn’t have a brother.”

“King Richard and Queen Eleanor,” Robin whispered.

Everyone stared at Robin in confusion. A terrible silence reigned in the room. Will and Djaq were quiet, thinking that Robin was in delirium. Archer stiffened. Uneasy with his conclusions, Prince Malik was the only one who began to suspect why King Richard loved Robin so much, but he preferred to keep the matters quiet; though he knew Archer’s story, he doubted that Robin meant Archer.

A long silence seemed deafening, and Malik cleared his throat. “Robin is feverish, and he doesn’t know what he is talking about. Many things he says don’t make sense.”

Will smiled. “He is muttering the names of the people whom he wants to protect.”

Robin smiled vaguely. “Marian… Melisende…”

Archer scoffed. “It seems Robin Hood is in love with two women.”

Djaq scowled at Archer. “Young man, mind your business.” Despite Archer’s role in Robin’s salvation, she didn’t trust him completely.

Archer decided against expressing his anger. “Well, as you wish. I will say nothing else.”

Later, when everyone left the bedchamber, Prince Malik and Djaq heard the truth about Robin Hood’s true parentage from feverish man. They were shocked by the revelation and decided to keep it in secret in case it was true; Malik even pledged not to tell Saladin about their findings.

The fever continued ravaging Robin's body for several more weeks. Then fever subsided a little bit, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. However, in several days fever returned and infection worsened. Again, Yussuf and Djaq had to cut the wound open for the second time; they removed the infected, rotting flesh from the wound and around it, but this time inflammation was not as severe as before.

Many hours slipped away, but nothing changed in Robin’s condition. Prince Malik ordered his personal physician to do everything to save Robin, but the man said that at that stage only God could spare Robin's life, if even He could. Another week passed, and the fever again subsided slightly, but Robin still was between life and death. He was ghostly pale, for his sickness had drained much strength out of him, and he had lost a lot of weight.

There was only darkness around Robin, lit by the flickering light of a strange and glorious magic that was breathing life into him. But there was so much pain in his body that he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave that darkness. His inflamed mind produced various visions as he tried to find his way back to light, but the darkness was everywhere, and he was lost.

In his dreams, Robin could see only chaos and disorder. Unreality was so similar to reality. His dreams were only the product of his imagination. Yet, some dreams were alive in his mind. Slowly, with small, faltering steps Robin made the first feeble attempt to impose some small order on the irreducible chaos of the thoughts and images whirling in his mind.

Then he found a thread, which he knew he had to seize, hold, follow, and it would lead him back to life through the twisted labyrinth of madness and darkness. Carefully, carefully, Robin made several steps ahead. Somewhere in that labyrinth, he saw a tiny ray of light at his feet, and then bright light almost blinded him. Light shone brighter as he advanced forward, and soon the darkness ahead was no longer complete – there was an orange glow ahead, shining like the rising sun.

The warm morning breeze fluttered the gauze curtains around the bed and filled the room with the fresh scent of jasmine and oil. Robin opened his eyes and stared at something blue with an intricate arrangement of golden patterns, which, however, was not the ceiling. The images in his mind were shifting and changing, filling him with a wealth of emotions he couldn’t describe.

Robin blinked. He found himself lying in a large bed of pure blue silk. He looked around, but through the gauze curtain, he could just barely see luxurious Arabic decorations on the walls. His head was spinning. He felt the silk sheets against his skin, enjoying their softness. He took a deep breath and felt his body relaxing.

He stretched his weakened body across the silk sheets and closed his eyes. He tried to move his body, but the violent pain slashed through his lower abdomen. He moaned aloud and tried to move again, but the same pain returned. He lay stricken, feeling helpless and frightened; his hands and forehead were clammy with sweat, his blue silk tunic slightly damp.

Robin lay still for a long, long time, his heart beating with thick, painful strokes, his thoughts churning wildly. He remembered voices and cries – somebody called him, someone was weeping, and someone talked to him. He shook his head, trying to remember the last events, but there were only mistful memories, unclear words, and disjoint fragments of the past in his mind, and all those pieces were slipping away if he tried to hold on.

The reality was slowly claiming Robin. Individual fragments were joining in the gradually emerging whole. The first thing Robin remembered was the monstrous, mind-numbing pain in his lower stomach, tearing his body apart atom by atom, the sensation as if a sword had deeply penetrated his flesh. He pressed his fingertips to his temples that throbbed painfully, trying to realize whether he had indeed been stabbed, but the mists grew darker.

Robin struggled to break through the thick wall of fog which surrounded him, and then images came. The first image was Sheriff Vaisey’s malicious and sneering face, his jeweled tooth gleaming in the bright sunlight as he spoke his threats to kill Marian if Robin or Guy didn’t kill King Richard. Then more images emerged – the deserted courtyard in Imuiz, King Richard’s shocked expression and sorrowful gaze, Marian’s beautiful face twisted in anguish and horror, Guy of Gisborne’s astonished expression, Much’s tear-stained face, and the shocked faces of his friends.

"You have awoken," someone said almost tenderly. "How are you feeling?"

“Where am I?” a confused Robin wanted to know. He tried to sit up in the bed, but a sudden jolt of pain surged through his abdomen. He reclined back on the pillows.

“You shouldn’t do that. You have to spend several more weeks in a bed.”

The gaze curtains swung open, and Robin’s cloudy eyes locked with the hazel eyes of the young Saracen who stood near his bed, dressed in rich white silk robes, a wide jeweled belt on his waist. The Saracen looked a bit tired and had dark circles under his eyes, but Robin quickly recognized him.

Robin blinked. “Malik?” He looked at the prince as if he were entranced, his head spinning.

The prince smiled down fondly at him. “We meet again, Robin of Locksley.”

“But… how is that possible?” Robin’s face changed into sheer amazement.

“It is a long story, Robin,” Malik responded as he touched Robin’s forehead. “Thanks be to God, your fever has subsided, at least for some time.”

“This pain,” Robin rasped. He moved and gave a scream. Thunderbolts of pain shot through his midsection and reached his hips and thighs if he moved.

“You were mortally injured.”

“I remember that I died.”

“You did.”

The pale blue eyes widened in astonishment. “But I am here.”

“You had died but then you came back.” The prince laughed merrily. “Tell me, Robin of Locksley, are you a God-blessed man?”

Robin was in a daze. “No. Yes. No.”

“Certainly, yes.” Malik laughed. “God spared your life. You survived for a reason.”

“Oh,” Robin breathed, barely able to utter a word. He was dizzy, and the world was a swirl of colors.

“It is the effect of herbs. They take the pain away.” The prince sank into the creamy silk next to the wounded man. “They are very powerful, and you feel as if you were flying like a bird for many hours.”

Robin’s eyes danced with amusement. “But I am Robin,” he said with a stupefied expression.

The prince chuckled. “Ah, surely! You are a little bird, as your friend, the Earl of Leicester, calls you.”

“It hurts so much.” Robin swallowed hard, his face contorted with a spasm of pain.

Malik rose to his feet. “I will ask my physician or your friend to give you something from pain.”

“Yes, please.” Robin shut his eyes and lay still while the prince disappeared from his eyesight and went somewhere, calling someone and saying that he had awoken. He heard a low baritone talking to Malik in Arabic; he recognized Djaq and Will’s familiar voices, with apparent notes of relief and joy.

The curtains opened, and four people appeared near the bed. Yussuf carefully peeled off his tunic, and gently removed the bandage from the wound, and Robin gave out a howl of pain. Robin lowered his eyes and his gaze fixed on the fresh wound, still barely healed; he lowered his hand to his belly and was about to trace his fingers along his injury, but Djaq quickly took his hand away, slapping him on his forearm.

“Oh,” Robin groaned, his eyes shut.

“Don’t do that, Sir Robin!” Yussuf ordered in heavily accented English.

“So naughty, like a child,” Djaq said jovially. Nervous laughter bubbled to her lips, dispelling the tension that had accumulated in her heart.

“He was a wild and disobedient child,” Will commented with a blithesome smile.

“And he grew up into a mischief-maker,” Malik supplemented.

“Of course,” Robin said huskily. A spasm of pain coursed through him, and he stiffened against it. After a moment, the pain in his stomach subsided. “Otherwise, there would be the fun in that?”

Prince Malik laughed softly. “It is impossible to keep anything from him.”

Djaq threw her head back and laughed. “He is becoming himself.”

Will’s face was pleased. “This is the old Robin we love.”

Djaq put a gentle hand on her patient’s forehead. “Robin, be a good man and don’t move – you may tear the stitches. You cannot touch your wound – you may irritate it and cause yourself more pain.” Her heart constricted and for a moment she couldn’t speak, exhausted with the constant worry about Robin’s health. “Besides, the wound is still infected. Don’t cause yourself more trouble.”

Robin looked shaken and disoriented. “I am sorry.”

Yussuf took several bottles filled with powders and liquids; he mixed ingredients and measured a few splashes in the alabaster cup that contained an ointment of rose oil and ground garlic. Djaq took the cup and soaked a cloth. They put a cloth on Robin’s stomach and kept it there for at least five minutes; it was cool and irritating, and all that time Robin quietly moaned in pain. They bandaged the wound again, slowly and with utmost care, but every touch was painful for Robin and his loud cries of pain pierced the hot air.

Prince Malik and Will stood near them, their faces concerned and pale.

Djaq managed a smile. “Shhh,” she murmured. “It is already done, Robin.”

“Pain will be gone soon,” Yussuf promised.

Robin’s dazed eyes flicked to Djaq. “How much time has passed?”

“Many weeks,” Yussuf replied.

“How many?” Robin persisted.

“What a stubborn man!” the physician exclaimed. “Stubborn to die! Stubborn in everything!”

“More than two months since you were stabbed.” Robin saw a silver goblet near his mouth, and Djaq's voice spoke again. “Drink this. It will help you fall asleep.”

Robin slowly drank the bitter liquid and was rewarded with a feeling of vitality coursing through him. “I want to go home,” he whispered, clutching Djaq’s hand. “I want to my wife.”

Djaq looked somewhat bewildered. “You will go home, Robin, as soon as you get better.”

“King Richard and everyone will be very happy to see you. Your wife, Lady Melisende, will give you a great surprise – your child. Imagine a boy or a girl with sandy-colored or red-gold hair and your pale blue eyes. Isn’t it good to have a child?” Will said, thinking that good news would please Robin.

Robin’s dazed mind struggled to make sense of Will’s words. The beautiful female name – Melisende – rang in his ears like a bell, waking his bewitched senses, casting off the thick fog of confusion. “It is great,” Robin whispered with a dreamy smile.

Djaq pressed her hand to his forehead, pleased to feel that it was no longer as hot as it had been before. “Sleep, Robin. You should sleep.”

Robin pressed his hands to his brow, suddenly too lightheaded. He stared into Djaq’s brown eyes, and her gaze drew him deeper and deeper, into the darkness of the blackest void. Lightning shot through his spine, burning away his consciousness. Golden light filled him, and he passed out.

During the next weeks, Robin was in a trancelike sleep that left him oblivious of his surroundings and yet not entirely losing the fleeting glimpse of reality. Robin knew that he was alive, but everything was enveloped in a thick mist. He guessed that it was the effect of the opiate herbs they gave him. He heard familiar voices speaking hurriedly somewhere nearby, as well as the deep voice of phantom that soothed his fears. Robin often awoke in pain and was in consciousness only for a short time, and then he was given food and drinks, and he ate automatically, swallowing piece by piece.

Everything was messed up in his head, and yet it was the reality as Robin struggled for his own life with death. The visions of the past flickered in his mind, but everything was misty, and the only clear sensation he had was the pain in his abdomen that blazed so hot and pierced his heart that tears sprang to his eyes and he fell further into the darkness that hovered like a blanket of clouds over him.

§§§

The journey across the Mediterranean Sea had taken more time than the captain of the ship had expected. The small traveling party, which included Marian, Guy, Little John, Allan, Much, and Roger de Tosny, had overcome many obstacles during their trip. They had followed a standard route: they had passed Cyprus and then had made a short stop in Palermo. Yet, battered by autumn storms, the ship had been carried further to the north from the coast of Sicily, and when one evening they had fallen asleep, they hadn’t known that the morning would find the ship far from the port where they had planned to land.

The ship had been tossed by the storm in the angry Mediterranean Sea for two weeks. Beaten out of the course, the ship had sailed to the north and finally had found shelter in Naples. They could have taken an inland route through Italy, but nobody had wished to cross the Alps in the autumn time. Thus, they had lost weeks when the ship had journeyed back to the south, had made a stop on Sicily, and then had taken its course on Marseilles.

They had disembarked in Marseilles and then had taken an inland route through the continental territories of the Anvengin Empire, traveling through Aquitaine, Anjou, Maine, and Normandy. They had made a short stop in Poitiers at royal court because Roger de Tosny had carried personal correspondence from King Richard for Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine. But Queen Eleanor hadn’t been there as she had departed to Bordeaux with court. It had been rumored that the Queen Mother had intended to travel to England after leaving Bordeaux and making a stop in Poitiers.

From Poitiers, they had begun their journey to the north accompanied by a small escort party of several Crusaders, also returning to England from the Holy Land. The trip from Poitiers to Normandy had been more exciting than the sea voyage that had exhausted everyone. They had crossed Normandy and had headed to Calais to cross the English Channel if storms didn’t delay their departure. In Calais, the weather conditions permitted them to travel upon arrival.

They returned to Nottingham on the November day that was gray and drizzly. A few dark clouds scudded across the sky, and the afternoon light was settling into dusk. The travelers were reduced to immobility after several days of traveling from Dover to Nottingham. Sir Roger de Tosny was not with them: they had parted ways in Caen as de Tosny had departed to his estates in Conches before joining the Earl of Leicester and the king’s army to defend the Norman territories from King Philippe’s troops.

Despite the king’s recommendation to stay away from Nottingham until his return, they came back. Little John missed Sherwood and Locksley, craving to find his son and wife because he wasn’t an outlaw anymore and could give them a better life. Much wished to go to Bonchurch and to the woods, feeling closer to Robin in Nottingham than anywhere else. Marian wanted to visit her father’s grave and then leave the town, and Guy pretended he liked her idea, stealthily intending to carry out his vengeance plans against the sheriff. Allan decided to accompany Guy and Marian.

They looked in awe at the crowds of people gathered in the town, failing to understand what was going on. The armed soldiers in the uniform of Prince John's Elite Guard guarded all four entrance gates to Nottingham, and every narrow street was overcrowded.

“This I don’t like,” Little John said.

“Look, mates, it seems that Prince John’s army is in Nottingham,” Allan declared.

“Yes, these soldiers wear Prince John’s colors,” Guy confirmed.

“Alright, what are we gonna do?” Allan asked.

“How many men does Prince John have?” Guy sounded nonchalant, his eyes scanning the street ahead.

Much clamored, “Thousands!”

John shook his head. “No!”

“Hundreds,” Much made another attempt to guess.

“Much!” Marian shot the former servant an astonishing look.

“I didn’t stop and actually count them! I can’t count.” Much ignored the low growl of hunger that his stomach produced, and gazed disdainfully at Guy. “Why is the prince coming?”

“It seems that the prince is visiting all the nobles in England to grease their palms,” Guy assumed. “He is trying to buy their loyalty before King Richard returns.”

“Does he think that he can buy them?” Allan said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Prince John can do many things. He is trying to turn the nobles and their men against the king to seize the throne, so King Richard returns to King John’s England,” Guy explained.

"We cannot let that happen!" Marian exclaimed, her chin thrust belligerently forward.

“Maybe we should wait,” Allan offered. “The king is on the way back to England.”

“No! We cannot wait! We must learn what is happening! Robin wouldn’t have waited – he would have acted!” Little John broke in heatedly. “Every noble the treacherous Prince buys will bring us closer to civil war between Prince John and King Richard. It will tear this country apart.”

Guy scoffed. “What a great political astuteness.”

“Nobody asked you, Gisborne,” John grumbled, his brows drawing together in a black scowl.

“We should go there,” Marian gave her verdict.

“Robin would have done everything to stop Prince John!” Much burst out hotly. “We should go and learn what Prince John is going to do against King Richard.”

“It is dangerous, but we should investigate,” Marian agreed.

Guy eyed the group, smiling to himself. For the first time in the past four months, he agreed with Hood’s annoying manservant who was becoming a thorn in his backside during their journey from Acre. Yet, Guy had a different objective to go to Nottingham – he craved to spill Vaisey’s blood. He was waiting for that moment for so long, and now he was too close to go back, so he supported Much.

“I agree. We should go,” Guy urged.

Marian raised an eyebrow. “Guy?”

Guy smirked. “What?”

Marian was alarmed. “What are you planning?”

Guy shook his head. “Nothing.”

“The sheriff can recognize you, Guy,” Marian supposed.

“You think so?” Guy threw his head back and laughed.

Marian flinched at his laugh, considering it irrelevant. “Well, you have changed. You look tired and careworn.”

“At least I am not dead.” Guy hinted at Robin’s death in the Holy Land, which affected him much more than he had been ready to admit even to himself.

Guy looked truly different – not like the sheriff’s drop-dead powerful henchman. He was unkempt and disheveled, and his eyes were sunken, his face haggard, his cheeks hollow. He was much slimmer than before because had lost much weight. His hair grew longer, and his black locks were messy, wild and untamed. Besides, he wasn’t clad in black leather on that day: he wore a rough, long brown cloak over a simple black tunic and black flat trousers.

They moved in the direction of the central courtyard and the castle of Nottingham. The growing crowd was blocking their path and many armed men seemed to be everywhere around. As they came closer to the castle, they found it increasingly difficult to penetrate the noisy throng. Eventually, Guy and Little John had to use their wide shoulders to clear the way for them, ignoring the babble of agitated voices all around them.

As they finally reached the courtyard, they noticed a heavy presence of guards with crossbows and drawn swords. Marian started trying to find a vantage point to have a better observation of the surroundings, but then a sudden oppressive silence attracted her attention.

The crowd on the square fell silent, and all eyes were glued to the front steps.

A hand pulled at Marian’s sleeve, and she looked at Guy. “Marian,” Guy called.

She gave him a questioning look. “What?”

Guy bent his head to her ear. “Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine and Prince John,” he informed.

Blinking her eyes in startled amazement, Marian stared at the Queen Mother’s tall, well-proportioned, slender figure. Without any exaggeration, Eleanor of Aquitaine looked stunning and majestic, and even at her old age she still seemed to be at the height of her charm, beauty, and magnificence.

Marian had never seen Eleanor of Aquitaine before, but she had always been impressed with the woman’s unique and notorious biography. The knowledge that Eleanor was not only _the Queen Mother, the wealthiest, the most scandalous, and the most powerful woman in the Angevin Empire_ , but also _Robin’s mother_ was overpowering and unbelievable. Guy had seen the Queen Mother once or twice before, and but now, knowing who she was for Robin Hood and what role she had played in his old-world conflict with Robin, emotions he had never experienced before ripped through him; strangely, the knowledge of the secret cheered him.

“What is the Queen Mother doing here?” Marian asked, bewildered.

Rapidly, Guy ran his eyes over the prince and Eleanor; then he turned his gaze at Marian. “King Richard is on his way home, but Prince John doesn’t want his mother to meet with the king. I assume that John is going to arrest her, if he hasn’t already done that.”

Marian looked appalled. “This is revolting!”

Guy laughed. "Well, it is a usual thing in the Plantagenet family.”

Prince John walked through the great hall of the Castle of Nottingham, heading to the front steps of the castle where crowds gathered at his invitation. John was dressed in an eccentric ermine mantle unfastened on the front and revealing his royal purple velvet tunic beneath his mantle. The padded shoulders made him look taller, and his tunic glittered with golden studs sewn in the form of lozenges; a magnificent cloak of crimson shimmering silk swept from his shoulders and cascaded down his back in deep folds.

Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine walked beside Prince John, her posture regal and proud despite her old age. She matched the prince in splendor. She was draped in a luxurious sable mantle unfastened on the front. Beneath she wore a deep-bosomed purple gown, with bronze embroidery on the front, its sleeves edged with black lace identical to the delicate lace that formed the raised veil on her high headdress that hid her long silver hair arranged in a loose bun on the nape of her head. The style of her clothing revealed the elegant bones and slender curves which had made her a stunningly beautiful woman in her youth; the chiseled cheeks and jaw still served her well. The lively, regal glow in her blue, expressive eyes belied her age.

The noblemen bowed and ladies curtsied, and the queen gave them her regal smile. Sheriff Vaisey and Lady Isabella of Gisborne walked behind the prince and the queen. Guy’s eyes flashed with hatred as he saw Isabella and Vaisey, and he glared at them venomously. Vaisey looked confident and smug, and Guy could see the gleam of his jeweled teeth and the half smile on his lips. Isabella looked bright and lovely in a pink gown adorned with crimson lace on the sleeves.

Slightly amazed, Queen Eleanor looked at her youngest son. “John, what is going on?”

Prince John smiled cunningly. “My dear mother, you have to wait a little more.”

The Queen Mother hesitated for a moment, but then, flashing the prince a searching look, spoke. “You said that you invited me to England to celebrate Richard’s peace treaty with Saladin, but it is not true.”

John cocked a brow. “You are right, mother. I invited you because I wanted to make a surprise for you and for myself.” His eyes sparkled with gladness.

“What are you planning, John? Is it related to Richard?”

The prince laughed. “Let’s talk about Richard later.”

“John, why did you gather so many people here?” the Queen Mother pressured.

“As I said, I have a surprise for everyone,” John purred, the corners of his lips quirking in a smile. “Let us hope that you find it memorable. I will certainly do my best to see to it that you are pleased.”

Eleanor heaved a sigh, and a feeling of premonition pervaded her. His words and smiles strengthened her discomfort, and she glanced around for distraction. The uncertainty unnerved her very much.

Prince John was highly conscious of the queen’s presence by his side, pleased that she had come so quickly at his first invitation. He had a special surprise for her, and there was nothing that could spoil his delight to see her face at the upcoming announcement.

Guy looked at the prince and the queen for a long time, and then his gaze traveled to a group of ladies-in-waiting behind the queen. He lingered his gaze at a slender female figure of a young, fractious, dark-haired, undeniably beautiful creature. The lady was dressed in a long velvet mantle adorned with diamonds and pearls on the front, which wasn’t fastened, revealing a stylish low-cut gown of pale green jaconet muslin enveloping her slender body tightly and floating daintily above the ground. A yellow silk ribbon was woven amongst the fiery strands of her glorious chestnut hair, shining about her creamy neck.

Guy swallowed hard as he took in every line and movement of the lady’s slender body, as if he were looking at temptation itself. His mind grappled with an acute, frightening awareness, Guy shook his head, thinking that he must have gone mad to be so curious about the unknown Queen’s lady; he cursed himself viciously. He was a married man, despite the uncharacteristic distance between Marian and him in the past months. Most importantly, he came to Nottingham to kill Vaisey instead of indulging himself into contemplation of young maidens, all the more the queen’s ladies.

The woman Guy looked at was Lady Megan Bennet of Attenborough, one of Eleanor’s most entrusted ladies-in-waiting and her confidante. Prince John liked her and was interested in her, though much of his curiosity sprang from the fact that Megan was very close to the queen, who respected and loved her so much that she often asked Megan’s opinion on some important matters.

Smiling at Queen Eleanor, John squeezed his mother’s hand as they made their way to the front steps, and the nobles, many of whom were the most powerful magnates of the realm, parted to let them pass, many eyeing them with open curiosity in anticipation of the prince’s proclamation. They paused just in the doors of the castle, and then slowly walked to the steps.

Holding Queen Eleanor’s hand high, Prince John raised his right hand and smiled craftily; then his expression changed into sadness. “My precious people of Nottingham, today is the most unhappy day for our realm,” he promulgated in a deep, sonorous voice. “Mark my words you will never forget it.”

John felt the queen’s hand tremble, pleased with the effect his words had on the old lady. He had dreamt of crushing his mother’s will and spirit for so long, and he had wanted to see her miserable and trembling in fear. Now the moment of his triumph had come, and his heart began to race with maddening delight. Queen Eleanor didn’t look at her youngest son; she cast a sidelong glance at Lady Megan Bennet who shot her a worried look and then looked back at the throng.

“My dear people,” Prince John addressed the crowd pompously, “we received dreadful news from the Holy Land! One vile man tried to kill my beloved brother, our most gracious and benevolent King Richard I of England, the Lionheart, in Acre.” He lapsed into silence, his expression transforming into a feigned relief. “Fortunately, our king is alive.”

A deathly hush fell over the crowd. All eyes were glued to Prince John.   

“But there was innocent blood spilled during the regicide attempt,” John continued. He rubbed his eyes, as if brushing away tears. “I am struck with utmost grief and despair, but I have to inform you that Sir Robin James Fitzooth of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon and Count de Bordeaux by his marriage to my cousin, Lady Melisende Plantagenet, _saved our king’s life and heroically died in Acre_. Sir Robin’s blood was a sacrifice for the Angevin Empire, for England, for King Richard, for my family, for me, and for all of us.”

The people gasped in horror. The people began to whisper. Many crossed themselves.

“No! No! No!” the grief-stricken hooded man in the crowd screamed in horror. He was Sir Malcolm of Locksley, who was still hiding in the forest, patiently waiting for Robin’s return from the Holy Land.

“Holy mother of God!”

“Oh my goodness!”

“Robin Hood was a hero! He was a great man!”

“He died so young!”

“He died for King Richard! This is a heroic, most honorable death!”

“Master Robin is dead!”

“Lord of Locksley is dead!”

“No,” Queen Eleanor murmured to herself. She closed her eyes, the horrible images of Robin in a blood-stained Crusader tunic flashing in her mind. Forcing down the terror that rose in her throat, she looked at the prince’s unsmiling face, with a tiny smirk quirking in the corners of his lips, and she was unsure of how to react to the news and whether it was John’s foul play or the truth.

Prince John waved his hand for silence. "Sir Robin of Locksley's death is a frightful, great loss for all of us! He was a unique man! He was our hero! We will never forget him! His memory and our love for him will always live in our hearts! We will cherish his memory forever! I know that we are all in inconsolable grief, and I myself still cannot believe that Sir Robin is in heaven, may his soul rest in peace." His expression was immensely sad; he was indeed a great actor. "Do you want to know who cruelly murdered the Earl of Huntingdon, our most honorable friend and our noble hero whom we all loved so much?"

The crowd was lethally silent in anticipation.

Prince John outstretched his hands, as if embracing the crowd. “I will tell you the truth,” he said in a loud voice. “Sir Guy Fitzcorbet of Gisborne traveled to the Holy Land and attempted to assassinate my brother – our fair, brave, and blessed King Richard.” He crossed himself. “Thanks be to God, Gisborne was stopped by Sir Robin Fitzooth of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon and Count de Bordeaux, also captain of the king’s private guard. Sir Robin sacrificed his life to save our beloved king.”

The silence deepened as horror penetrated deeper into the hearts of the people in the courtyard. Sheriff Vaisey stepped forward, and Prince John nodded at him, smiling.

The sheriff swept his eyes over the mob; his face was neutral, though he barely concealed a malicious glee on his face. “Guy of Gisborne is a cold-blooded murderer! He is the most immoral and wretched man on earth! Gisborne tried to kill King Richard, but, instead, he murdered Robin Hood! He betrayed England and our king! He is the most dangerous criminal in England and deserves to burn in hellfire for all his crimes.” He looked as if he were prostrate with grief; his tone lugubrious, but his heart was hammering in pleasure.

“Justice! Justice!” one of the peasants shouted.

Vaisey waved his hand for silence. “Blah-di-blah-di-blah! Gisborne is a traitor to England and King Richard. He also… betrayed my trust and deep devotion to him.” He imitated a gesture of hopelessness and grief by brushing away the feigned tears from his eyes. “It is… very painful for me to realize… that I was deceived by Gisborne throughout so many years. Gisborne backstabbed me when he betrayed our king, whom I deeply love and respect. I never thought that I nurtured a snake in my bosom.”

The sheriff smiled smugly, and so did Isabella. They both wished Guy dead. Isabella struggled to keep herself from laughing openly, feeling happy for the first time in many years since Guy had arranged her marriage to Squire Thornton. Vaisey was a little saddened that Gisborne had sided with the king in the end, but he couldn’t forgive Guy for the flagrant betrayal.

Prince John wheezed a breathy laugh which caught in his throat. “In the name of my brother King Richard I of England, I, Prince John of England, hereby proclaim that Guy of Gisborne has been stripped of all the titles and lands. I strip him of his knighthood because he betrayed his vows of chivalry and honor, which he gave when he was knighted.” His eyes flashed with pleasure, for he loved to make such spirited speeches in front of so many people. “This man deserves the worst that can befall him.” He trailed off, his eyes darting around the crowd and focusing on the sheriff.

His eyes full of malice and venom, Vaisey promulgated, “ _I, Lord Peter Vaisey, the Sheriff of Nottingham, hereby pronounce Guy of Gisborne an outlaw_. People consorting with this criminal automatically become outlaws. It is the responsibility of all dutiful subjects to report to the authorities – to your Sheriff – everything you know about Gisborne’s location and assist us in capturing this villain.”

Sheriff Vaisey went to Prince John, and his fingers settled upon the prince’s shoulder. “Sire, what about the Earldom of Huntingdon and the Locksley estates?” he questioned. “They reverted to the crown, didn’t they?” He planned to take Locksley for himself after Robin’s death and having Guy outlawed.

Prince John grinned. “No. Lord Roger de Lacy will continue acting as a temporary overlord of Locksley and the Earldom of Huntingdon.”

“But why, sire?” Vaisey was confused. “Robin Hood didn’t have heirs.”

The prince laughed. “My friend Vaisey, I know this predatory gaze. Not this time,” he said. “Soon you will understand the reason.”

“As you command, sire,” Vaisey acquiesced.

Staring at a sea of the threnetic faces, John began his speech. “My friends, I also have some positive news for you. Sir Robin of Locksley wedded my beloved cousin, Lady Melisende Plantagenet, the Countess of Huntingdon and Countess de Bordeaux, several months before his tragic death.” He paused, his eyes briefly lingering at Vaisey and then focusing on the crowd. “I am pleased to inform you that _Melisende will give birth to Sir Robin’s child in a few months_. Regardless of the child’s sex, he or she will be the lord or the lady of Locksley, as well as the Earl of Huntingdon or the Countess of Huntingdon in her own right.”

The announcement drew a gasp of astonishment and amazement from the crowd, and then the people of Locksley broke into cries of joy, consoling themselves with the fact that the lands would be in the possession of the people with the Huntingdon blood.

“God bless Lord Robin’s wife!” someone from the villagers of Locksley declared.

“Thanks be to God that the Huntingdon line hasn’t died out,” someone in the crowd said.

“It is better than nothing,” Malcolm of Locksley whispered to himself.

Years ago, Malcolm of Locksley had thought that the death of his wife Elizabeth was the worst thing that could have happened to him. Then he had believed that Ghislaine of Gisborne’s accidental death was the worst event as he had loved Ghislaine very much and had mourned for her. Now he thought that he had never known such a great pain and misery before. Now he was mad with grief and wanted to kill himself with the dagger hidden in the inner pocket of his warm cloak.

A heartbroken Malcolm looked at Prince John, and then his eyes darted to Queen Eleanor. He was shocked how ghostly pale she looked, thinking that her whiteness reflected his own under the hood. He kept staring at her, and his eyes briefly locked with hers. He was sure that she recognized him, for she lingered her gaze at him for an instant. They both were hurting terribly at that moment.

The hooded man couldn’t take it any longer. He had to leave the town. He wanted to go to the forest, to the cave where he lived at that moment. Sherwood had many memories about Robin, and he wanted to be closer to his son. He began making his way out of the crowd, roughly pushing everyone from his way. He had to leave Nottingham and think how to take his revenge on Gisborne.

§§§

“The people of Nottingham,” Prince John declared in a loud voice, “Sir Roger de Lacy will continue the ongoing management of Sir Robin’s lands in the interests of my cousin Melisende and Sir Robin’s heir.”

Vaisey smiled knowingly. He understood that Prince John didn’t want to take away the lands of the child of royal blood. Besides, the sheriff knew that Prince John liked and respected Melisende Plantagenet, which had always amazed Vaisey, for he believed that the prince loved only himself. He had seen Melisende only once at court in London, and he thought that if the lady came to Locksley and to Huntingdon and suddenly started ruling the lands in the interests of her child, he would find himself in trouble because Melisende was so much like Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine.

“Help us stop Guy of Gisborne, and you will be generously rewarded,” John promised, and his voice was the sign for silence. “We are giving three hundred pounds for Guy of Gisborne’s head! The murderer must be captured and punished!”

Vaisey and Isabella stared at Prince John in admiration. They both adored his theatrical performances.

The absolute stillness was broken by the chilling, agonized screams of the people of Locksley who cursed Guy of Gisborne and demanded his execution. The shocked spell was broken, and angry voices sprang up, thirst for vengeance flaring up in the peasants’ hearts.

“Guy of Gisborne is a murderer! He killed my brother! I want him dead!” Kate of Locksley screamed.

“Guy of Gisborne deserves to die a brutal death!” Rebecca of Locksley shouted.

“Gisborne killed Sir Robin, our beloved and heroic Lord of Locksley and the Earl of Huntingdon! He killed Robin Hood, our beloved hero and our savior!” Raymond, the middle-aged carpenter from Locksley, declared. “Vengeance against Gisborne! Death to this man!”

“We need no money to capture him! It is our duty to find Sir Robin’s murderer and make him pay for our Lord’s death,” a young man from Locksley said.

“We must catch and destroy Guy of Gisborne!” an old peasant from Locksley encouraged.

“Gisborne also killed Bridget and Thornton!” another villager screeched.

“Death to Guy of Gisborne!”   

“Blood for blood!”

The crowd was bloodthirsty and would have murdered Guy on the spot if they had discovered him among them. They were full of fire and hatred, underpinned by bloodthirsty passion.

Guy clenched his jaw, glaring ferociously at Sheriff Vaisey from the crowd. “You will pay to me for everything,” he hissed in a whisper, a whizzing sound filled with loathing and mortal hatred.

“Blimey!” Allan looked horrified.

“Oh,” Little John breathed.

“No,” Marian whispered.

Much gasped for air, his eyes widened. “What is going on? Prince John is mad! We must–“

“Shut up,” Guy interrupted.

“Stay away from me, Gisborne,” Much replied between clenched teeth. “Nothing will ever change my attitude towards you. You are a traitor and a murderer, and I hate you.”

“I am not asking you to like me,” Guy fired back.

A pleased Much smiled nastily. “But there is another thing here. Look, lads, the bounty on Gisborne’s head is so high! We are not outlaws anymore, and we cannot associate ourselves with him! We can turn him in and get more money for him!” He purposefully unnerved Gisborne.

Rage enkindled in Marian's eyes. "Much, when will you stop hating and insulting Guy? It is even worse that you are doing that deliberately. You were taunting Guy on the way back here, and he remained calm, ignoring your spiteful comments. How long do we all have to be patient?"

Much let out a delighted smile. “I am glad, so glad! Gisborne is in our shoes – he is an outlaw.”

“Gisborne would have been pleased to lead a free and wild life in the forest,” Little John agreed; the words came out easily, almost naturally.

Much sniggered. “It is excellent. _Tables have been turned!_ ”

“I am sick of you!” Marian glared at Much and John.

With a cold, set look on his face, Guy strode forward, only a step in the crowd, and grabbed Much’s shoulders. “Mind your business, you miller’s son!”

Much smirked at Guy’s loss of temper. “Sleep more, you traitor. You look too worn out.”

Guy drew his sword and pressed the blade to Much's throat. “Don’t provoke me. I don’t want to cause you any harm.”

Allan came to them. “Stop, mates! It is not funny!” He looked between the two men. “Guy, release Much.”

Marian shook her head. “You are like two stubborn mules! You are not enemies anymore.”

John stood between them. “Much and Gisborne, enough.” He swung his gaze at Guy. “Nobody meant that we would betray you, Gisborne.”

"At least someone has some brains left." Guy pushed Much aside and sheathed his sword.

Much stepped aside, both outraged and frightened, his face marred by a deep scowl. John grumbled something unclear. Allan looked worried and simultaneously annoyed.

“We must think about the sheriff and stop quarreling! The sheriff crossed the line! He must be dealt with today!” Stirred by obstinate determination, Marian strode forward, intending to announce the truth about Robin’s supposed death to the world.

“Stop! You will go nowhere,” Guy said quietly, restraining the surge of anger that shook him inside.

“Guy, we cannot let them disgrace your name!” Marian exploded. “The king pardoned you!"

Guy's full mouth curved into a faint smile. "It is my deal, not yours."

Marian bit her lip, and Guy could see she wanted to say more, but then she turned away from him. He was happy that she didn’t object at least once; he had a clear plan of action, and nothing could sway him from his course. After the final betrayal, he had to kill Vaisey, and the sheriff’s death was the only thing that mattered at that moment.

In stunned terror, Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine couldn’t tear her eyes from Prince John’s face, so shocked was she by the news that she couldn’t speak and move; her heart collapsed in pain in her breast. At the sight of his mother’s white face and shocked expression, Prince John smiled contently, his blue eyes cold and hard; he was enjoying her distress and grief.

“John, you are not lying, are you?” Queen Eleanor asked, sending a harsh glance to the prince.

Prince John broke into a merry laughter. “Oh, my dear mother, are you saddened? What a tragedy! Robin Hood is dead!” A satisfied smile curved his lips. “Richard must be biting his nails in grief. He was so devoted to Hood."

Eleanor averted her gaze. “How did it happen?” she muttered a constricted tone.

A ludicrous expression on his features, John stared at her. “Oh, mother, you want to know? Why are you so curious?” he exclaimed in angry accents. “Good God! You have never loved me! You care for Hood more than you have ever cared for me, your flesh and blood!"

The queen ignored John’s outburst of hatred for her. “Melisende is with child, isn’t she?”

“Yes, Melisende is carrying Robin Hood’s child,” John answered. “This is the only reason why I allow Roger de Lacy to remain an overlord of Hood’s lands.”

Queen Eleanor nodded. Her heart was tearing apart in pain. The only consolation was that Melisende would have Robin’s child, his flesh and blood; it was good that she arranged a marriage for Robin. She had lost so many children, and it appeared that she had lost Robin as well; now she was also afraid that John had killed Richard. She regretted that she hadn’t told Robin the truth about his birth. At least many Poitevin lords and barons would undoubtedly blame John for Robin’s death and would now never side with him, at least until Richard’s death; the threat of rebellion against Richard in Aquitaine was over. Eleanor had no doubt that all those vassals would swear their fealty to Robin’s child.

Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine glared at Prince John. “Robin of Locksley was loyal to Richard, and they were friends. He sacrificed his life to save Richard, and I am mourning for him.” She inferred that John hadn’t learned about her true relationship with Robin yet. If he had known the truth, he would have been very happy, taunting her with venomous remarks.

John stiffened. “Again Richard! Have you ever loved me at least a little, mother?”

“Stop being a child, John,” the queen snapped. “When did Robin of Locksley die?”

“A few months ago,” John said, smirking. “I wonder why Richard didn’t write to you about that.”

The Queen Mother watched her youngest son carefully, her eyes looking into his naughty eyes. “Your minions again tried to take Richard’s life, didn’t they?”

Sheriff Vaisey approached them from the back. He bowed to the queen and the prince.

John's mouth thinned. “Mother, you know that my father, God rest his soul, wanted me to be King of England, not Richard. That was his wish. And I will be... soon.” He took a deep breath. “My father taught me to surround myself only with the most loyal vassals, with those who love me.” He stared at the sheriff. “Lord Vaisey, do you love me?”

Vaisey bowed deeply. “La di da di da! I have always loved you and only you, my king.”

Eleanor’s eyes darted between John and the sheriff, and then she gazed at the prince. “You again attempted to assassinate your own brother, your king!" she said in a voice shaking with rage, her eyes full of disdain. “Richard is alive, but Robin of Locksley died for him! You don’t even know what you did!"

“Don't teach me what to do, mother! You never loved me! Father loved me, not you!” Prince John shot back, outraged. “I don’t care that Robin of Locksley died, though I have to say that his death was not what I wanted after his marriage to Melisende.” He gave Vaisey a furious glance, but then his face regained satisfied expression.

Eleanor arched a brow. “John, you take a great pleasure in killing your brother’s loyal men, don’t you?”

John leered at her. “You are right, mother. I would love to eradicate all of Richard’s supporters.”

“Richard is a better man than you, John. He never wished you dead and he never tried to kill any of his brothers.” With malevolent, narrowed eyes, Queen Eleanor stared at Prince John, disgusted at the thought that Robin had died for Richard and that Richard’s life had been again in danger. Her heart was bleeding like a large open wound; it was broken at the thought that the man she wished to protect so much, the very man who saved England, was now dead because of his own power-hungry half-brother.

Eleanor was aware that the king had made peace with Saladin as Richard had dispatched a messenger to her. Richard must have already left Acre, but she knew nothing else and wondered where her eldest surviving son was. She believed that Richard didn’t write to her as he probably wished to deliver the grave news in person or through Melisende who must have been on her way to Aquitaine together or separately from the king. The realization dawned upon her that she had departed from Aquitaine shortly before Melisende could have arrived there, so they had missed each other. She only hoped that Melisende wouldn’t come to England and would hide herself from Prince John at least until the birth of her child.

Eleanor glared at John. "Richard," she said. “Where is Richard?”

Prince John smiled grimly. "Don’t worry, mother. He will be fine," he said icily.

“Where is Richard?” Eleanor repeated.

“Don’t wait for Richard at home soon,” Prince John said, with a feral grin blossoming on his face.

“Your Grace, don’t worry about King Richard,” Vaisey nearly sang. “He will be taken care of.”

The queen was nervously biting her bottom lip. “I cannot believe in what I hear.”

John flashed a brilliant smile. “Have you lost your wits, mother? What happened to you?”

Eleanor chuckled darkly. “I am most pleased, John. I gave birth to a passionate brood of snakes.”

“Very well,” John replied with a laugh. “If you have nothing else to say, I have another surprise for you.” He turned his gaze at Vaisey. “The Queen Mother is under house arrest. Take her to Pontefract Castle under a heavy guard. Be attentive to her, for I know that she is a resourceful woman and can do many tricks to flee.”

“Sire, I swear everything will be as you wish,” Vaisey pledged.

“I hope so,” John said, looking at the queen. “I made a good choice of your prison, mother. After all, Pontefract is not a new place for you, and you will love to spend more time there,” he told her.

The sheriff snapped his fingers, and at least a dozen of guards walked towards them. Queen Eleanor stared at the guards for a long moment, only shaking her head. The guardsmen looked wordlessly at Vaisey who sneered at the queen and then nodded at his men.

“Mother, you should go,” Prince John said impatiently, casting haphazard, heated glances at Isabella of Gisborne. “If you have a chance to pass my blessings and good wishes to Richard, write to him that I am a good son who keeps you safe only for him.”

Vaisey smiled. “Sire, I love you and I love your mother. I promise that that Her Grace will be very, very safe, far from any kind of danger.” He smirked. “After all, there are many infections in the air, and isolation will save your mother’s life.”

John laughed. “Lord Vaisey, you are such a loyal subject that I can even forgive you for some sins.” He chuckled. “I am fed up with my brother. This cat-and-mouse game with him is wearing my patience thin, but it will soon be finished.”

Eleanor stiffened, her eyes darkening. “John, your ambitions for the throne are driving you astray.”

“I am sick of your old drill about my rights for the throne, mother,” Prince John snapped.

At that moment, Isabella approached Prince John. “Your Grace,” she murmured as she curtsied to the Queen Mother, holding her skirts daintily. She smiled as Eleanor permitted her to rise from her curtsey.

Queen Eleanor smiled. “Go, John, go. Don’t waste time,” she encouraged. “A young lady is waiting for you.” She chuckled. “Young lovers often believe that they have discovered the secret of the ages, which was revealed to them alone. Ah, that is the miracle of youth and learning.” Her voice was decidedly taunting, her eyes gleaming with barely discernible mocking laughter. “But we all delude ourselves in youth. The same is with babymaking, and nobody knows these joys better than our most beloved Prince John, and he doesn’t need to worry about other trifles.”

Prince John blinked, not knowing what to say in the response to his mother’s unprecedented irony. He hated that she had always won their verbal battles of wit. His displeasure grew into the first stirrings of panic, and he coughed, trying to pull his thoughts together.

“Ah, my dear mother, I am going to show you what laughter does to all of us,” John replied, his lips lengthening in a sardonic smile. “Father did the right thing when he made sure that you laughed alone in your prison throughout so many years. I am just taking an example from him.”

Eleanor granted him a dazzling smile. “Of course, son. Laughing hard is such a trifle.”

The sheriff sneered at the sardonic duel between the prince and the queen. Isabella, however, cringed, for the Plantagenets’ demonstration of fake delight made her feel like an outsider.

Prince John smiled at Queen Eleanor and bowed. Taking Isabella’s hand, he led her to the castle doors, where he stopped for a brief moment; Isabella stood at his right hand. “Mother, enjoy your time in solitude and thrive like a fading flower.” Then he bowed again and Isabella sank into a curtsey.

As the prince and his mistress disappeared inside the castle, the Queen Mother said that she needed a moment in privacy with her ladies. She leaned her head to Lady Megan Bennet. “Megan, you should leave,” the queen whispered into Megan’s ear.

Megan looked amazed. “Your Grace, I cannot leave you!”

Eleanor took her small hand in hers. “You are from Nottingham, right?”

The young lady shook her head. “I was born in Nottingham. My father lives here.”

“Leave and stay with your father. Then find Roger de Lacy by any means,” Eleanor requested.

Megan looked shocked. “But they want to deliver you to Pontefract! This is de Lacy’s castle!”

“There is no way Roger de Lacy could have betrayed Richard. I think that John dispossessed him of some castles, if not of everything,” the queen voiced her opinion.

Megan blanched. “Sir Robin of Locksley is dead… Whom can we trust?”

Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t believe that Robin is dead.”

“But they said that he had been murdered by Guy of Gisborne.”

“John can say many things.”

She blinked her eyes. “Your Grace, you think that… Prince John is lying?”

“I don’t know, Meg. I don’t know.” Eleanor’s eyes were full of anguish before turning blank. “I don’t feel that Robin is dead.” She put a gloved hand on her bosom, pressing it to her heart.

“I will do everything I can,” Megan promised. “I will find Roger de Lacy and will try to contact someone of King Richard’s loyal men.”

Queen Eleanor smiled. “Meg, we need you alive.” She took the girl’s hands in hers in a gesture of spontaneous friendly affection. “Trust nobody – only yourself. Be very attentive and accurate.”

“Your Grace, I will be very careful,” Megan murmured. Her heart was heavy that she was going to leave her mistress whom she loved so much, and fear gripped her as she added in a voice that was barely a whisper, “But I fear Prince John may do something to you like he did to King Richard.”

“John may try to kill Richard, but he can do nothing to me,” Eleanor whispered grimly. “He can imprison me forever. He can put me in a damp, cold cell. He can do many things to me.” She sighed. “But he will never order to kill me. This I know for sure.”

“I pray you will be alright,” Megan said with a note of worry.

The Queen Mother smiled gently. “You are my favorite lady, and I care for you deeply.” Her smile was almost maternal. “I loved your mother when she was my lady-in-waiting and my confidante so long ago, and your father is Richard’s close friend. We cannot lose you, and you must be very careful.”

“I will,” Megan repeated her promise. “But I swear I will do everything to find King Richard and release you from prison, even if I have to die to win this battle.”

Eleanor sighed sorrowfully. “I hope it will never come to that.”

“Oh, Madame! Sir Robin was so loyal to our king! He would have saved you!”

The queen cast a quick glance at the guards; then she flitted her gaze to her lady. “Megan, we don’t have time. Try to leave before the horde disperses.”

A discreet cough came from behind her, and the queen turned to discover Sheriff Vaisey standing near her and grinning at her fiendishly. “Your Grace, I have to interrupt your little… private chat.” He raised his eyes to the sky. “It is going to rain. The fresh air will be cool and probably bad for Your Grace’s health. I pledged to keep you safe, and I cannot let you catch a cold or spoil your queenly skin.”

“I am not fearful of a wet weather if there is a task I need to do,” the queen retorted with a smile. “I want to thank you, Lord Vaisey, for your hospitality that it so much appreciated by me.”

“Your Grace, the carriage is ready.” Blamire bowed low to the queen, with a small smile remaining in place on his dark-skinned face. He was Vaisey’s newly appointed captain of the guards.

The guards surrounded Queen Eleanor and her ladies. Eleanor uttered no word, her eyes narrowing as she looked from the sheriff to the guards; she raised her elegant hand, signaling that she was ready. As they descended the front steps and stepped on the pavement, the throng parted, and Eleanor saw the carriage was waiting for her. Using her chance, Lady Megan Bennet escaped and mingled with the crowd, quickening her footsteps as she walked away from the central square and the castle.

Megan looked around, thinking that she had probably never seen in Nottingham as many people as today. She had spent her childhood and most of her adulthood at court in Aquitaine, and Nottingham was a foreign place she didn’t like at all. The English language sounded unusual and strange to her ears because she was accustomed to speaking Norman-French and Occitan and much more rarely English; nevertheless, her English was impeccable and without any accent.

“I have to find the king’s loyal men,” Megan told to herself as she was slowly making her way through the crowd. “I have to save the king and the queen.”

Meanwhile, Guy, Marian, Allan, Little John, and Much were trying to squeeze through the crowd of hate-ridden people. There was weeping, moaning, and swearing all around as the distraught, infuriated people cursed Guy of Gisborne; the villagers of Locksley were especially bloodthirsty and frantically demanded Guy’s blood. Moving in the midst of the infuriated peasants seized with bloodlust, Guy was zealous to abscond from the central square, and the others followed him. Blamire shouted Vaisey’s orders to free the square, but the mob was moving chaotically, in all directions, maybe because the people were too distressed by the news of Robin Hood’s demise to think straight.

Much cocked a derisive eyebrow, his suspicions fully aroused. “Gisborne, you were accused of killing Bridget and Thornton. Did you kill them? Why did you do that?”

Little John stared at Guy in horror. Allan only shrugged, preferring not to interfere.

“I didn’t kill them,” Guy said sincerely. “Someone else did. It is a strange murder.”

“I don’t believe you,” Much stated.

“I swear upon my soul,” Guy vowed.

“Guy tells you the truth – he is not guilty of this murder. Someone killed Bridget and Thornton in front of us with a shot of deadly accuracy, so much like Robin’s. The culprit wasn’t identified,” Marian proceeded to explain in haste. “Maybe it was one of the sheriff’s tricks.”

“They were killed from a bow!” Much exclaimed in amazement. "Nobody can shoot like Robin.”

"Hmm," Guy muttered thoughtfully. “I know two other men who can shoot like Hood.” A sigh tumbled from his lips. “They are Malcolm of Locksley and Archer, Prince John’s assassin.”

“Archer?” Marian asked with interest.

“Yes. He possesses unparalleled archery skills, exactly like Robin’s,” Guy confirmed with a sour laugh. “Even his name suits him.”

“Robin’s father was a marksman too,” Much said exuberantly, nodding his head several times. “But he is dead, and Archer was on our side in Imuiz.”

Little John muttered, “It is so odd.”

“Mates, it is just another one of many sheriff’s games.” Amusement warred with chagrin in Allan’s breast as he wondered who had killed the servants in Locksley.

“Suppose I believe that Gisborne didn’t kill Thornton and Bridget,” Much retorted. “But it doesn’t change anything – he is a murderer and a traitor.”

“Much, shut up,” Marian said between set teeth.

“Stop arguing, mates!” Allan appealed to them. “Stop!”

Marian was overwhelmed with ire. Her forehead furrowed, her sapphire eyes blazing in anger, she glanced at Guy and hissed between gritted teeth, “The sheriff is the vilest man I had ever seen! I hate Vaisey so much! I hate him for murdering Robin! I hate him for corrupting and humiliating you during so many years! I hate him for my father’s death! I hate him for disgracing your name after you switched sides!”

“Calm down, Marian.” Guy eyed her in amazement. He had never seen Marian so angry. She was like a tigress ready to attack her victim on the spot.

“I cannot calm down! I just cannot!” Marian protested.

Guy gripped her hand. “Marian, you will stay with Allan, Much, and John. I will also be with you. Don’t even dare leave and try to find the sheriff.”

She raised a brow. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

He shook his head. “I just want you to be careful.”

When Marian, Guy, and the others stood behind one of the buildings that fringed the square, a violent roar of angry voices broke out as the passing people spoke about Guy even in harsher tones than they had heard before. Guy put on a brave face to hide his irritation and terror as he was attempting to squeeze through the horde, though inside he was seething with anger mingled with dread.

“Guy, tell me who killed Bridget and Thornton,” Allan requested when Guy and he found themselves not so close to the others.

Guy looked hurt. “I am labeled the murderer of Robin Hood, Bridget, and Thornton and of many other people. What other lies will they make up about me?”

“I believe you, Guy. I don’t think that you killed them,” Allan said with a reassuring smile. “Much and Little John will come around. It will be alright over time.”

Guy smiled. “Thank you.” His eyes glittered in the dull gray light of the day.

“I am not being funny, but Vaisey’s tricks are very dirty. It is really dangerous for you to say in Nottingham,” Allan opined.

“We will soon be out of this.” Guy gripped Allan’s forearm and glanced into his eyes. “Take care of Marian. If something happens to her, you will answer to me with your life.”

Allan’s face fell. “And you? What are you gonna do?”

“It is my business,” Guy growled.

An amused Allan blinked, but Guy was already gone. His frantic eyes wandering around in search for Guy, Allan shuddered as it occurred to him that Guy must have left to find the sheriff. An apprehensive Allan was thoroughly miserable as the rain was soaking his clothing.

§§§

Ignoring the drizzling rain and the movements of the crowds, Guy was moving forward, quickly and aggressively. He had a purpose – to sneak into the castle and find Vaisey. Guy was full of hatred and could think only about revenge. The sheriff would die at his hand and would pay for the disgrace of Guy’s mother in the eyes of King Henry, Guy’s humiliation, the two regicide attempts on King Richard’s life, Robin’s tragic death, and for the deaths of the many innocent people whom he had tortured and murdered.

Meanwhile, Lady Megan Bennet was lost in the large crowd, trying to vanish from the square as a shadow, for she couldn’t attract attention to herself. She was smiling at the people around, her head high, her posture almost regal as she was moving through the sea of the townspeople. Many men smiled and winked at her, letting her go ahead. The crowd parted willingly, freeing the way for her.

Megan’s mind was reeling. She regretted that Robin of Locksley was dead. She had met him when Robin had lived at court in Poitou during Richard’s final rebellion against his father; at that time, she had been a very young girl and hadn’t interacted much with Robin. When Robin had spent several weeks at court on the way from Acre to England, she had watched him entertaining on feasts in the company of the Queen Mother’s ladies-in-waiting. She had also met him during Eleanor’s private dinners organized especially for Robin, which puzzled Megan as the queen had always seemed to be besotted with the young Crusader hero, like Robin had always been besotted with King Richard. Megan had also heard countless stories about Robin’s bravery, valor, and heroism in the Holy Land and in the forest from Queen Eleanor herself, as well as from other courtiers who had always openly admired the young Earl of Huntingdon.

The fact that Guy of Gisborne had killed Robin made Megan feel uneasy. She had seen Gisborne before only once at court in London when Queen Eleanor had visited Prince John in King Richard’s absence in England. As the gossip about Vaisey’s arrival in London had reached Eleanor, she had retired to her chambers and had never appeared in public again while Vaisey had been there; the Queen Mother had always despised Vaisey and all his men, including Guy.

Thus, Megan hadn’t been given a chance even to look attentively at Guy; she only knew that the man was evil, wore black leather, and that he had taken possession of the Locksley estates after Robin’s return from the Crusade. Later, when Eleanor and her entourage had returned to Aquitaine, Megan had often listened to Queen Eleanor’s talks about Guy: the queen’s opinion had always been unpleasant, but the old lady had obviously been interested in Guy. Somehow, Megan was mystified by Guy only by listening to the tales of Queen Eleanor and many courtiers.

As Megan reached the opposite side of the square, something strange happened. Prince John’s guards shouted the commands to part the way and step aside from the road that led to the castle. The people grumbled and whispered, their expressions curious and peculiar, but they obeyed and freed the way. Someone important from Prince John’s entourage was expected to arrive in Nottingham.

Numerous armed men dressed in blue-and-black uniforms galloped towards the castle; they were followed by the prince’s soldiers. The carriage passed by Megan, drawn by six horses. Under the drizzling rain, the carriage and the horses advanced over the road covered with veritable seas of mud. The road had already been churned up by the wheels of carriages and hooves of horses which had traveled there before; the passage of the new party promised to make further movement on the road impossible.

Megan stiffened as she recognized the extravagant carriage that was so often spoken about by the courtiers and even the common people in London. It was the Earl of Buckingham’s carriage, and the men in blue-and-black uniform were the earl’s personal guards.

The carriage with the Earl of Buckingham stopped near the fronts steps. A lackey opened the door of the carriage, and Buckingham stepped out into the street. As if it were not raining, he strode towards the steps, dressed in a luxurious cape of heavy satin and velvet. As the earl climbed the stairs, his armed men followed him, and then Prince John appeared in front of him. Buckingham sank to one knee and bowed his head in accordance with the royal protocol, but John dismissed him from his bow and scooped him into his arms.

Megan was intrigued and a little frightened as she had never liked the Earl of Buckingham, wondering what the man was doing in Nottingham. When she had been with the Queen Mother in her chambers in the castle, she hadn’t heard that the prince had been waiting for him. Whatever the man planned to do in Nottingham, it meant nothing good for Queen Eleanor and King Richard because he was the Black Knight and had already tried to kill their liege. She considered Buckingham Prince John’s puppet and debauchee, who had countless wanton love affairs at court and was rumored to invite whores to his mansion in London every weekend. She also knew that the Earl of Buckingham was an excellent statesman, a fine judge of horses, and a gambler as well.

Hiding under the voluminous folds of her warm velvet cloak, Megan slipped out of the crowd unnoticed. She looked around, her eyes frantically ordering everyone to free the path. She needed to perish from the central courtyard and reach her father’s manor located in the western part of Nottingham. Wherever she looked, her gaze fell on the unimaginable tangle of coaches and horses and Prince John’s armed men.

"I will never get out of here," Megan groaned, turning to the man who stood beside her.

The man looked like a hooligan. He eyed Megan in adoration, his eyes taking in her expensive cloak and jewelry. He understood that she wasn’t a usual girl but most likely a daughter of a rich nobleman. He thought that the lady was stunningly beautiful and could easily imagine her sitting at the feast in the castle and even at royal court. She wore expensive things, and he needed money; he also wanted her as a woman because she was beautiful.

The man approached Megan and poked her with his hand. "Don't argue with fate, dear," he said gaily. "Even the longest journey has an end. Are you trying to find me?”

"What do you want?" Megan asked. Her voice was both angry and desperate.

The thief smiled menacingly. “I want your jewelry and money you have in your purse, my beauty.”

“Leave me alone,” Megan hissed, looking into the man’s eyes.

The man only laughed at her. “Huh, my girl, you are such a beauty, but you are so rude,” he said, glaring at her. “I imagine how good you are in a bed, lass.”

Megan gave a haughty laugh, although she felt a lump forming in her throat. "You are a very badly mannered man. Didn’t your parents teach you how to treat ladies?”

"I will be perfectly happy to become your pupil, sweetheart," the thief cut in, much to Megan’s surprise. Megan shot him a furious glance, and the naughty man laughed at her. “I have no doubt that you will be like a storm in a bed. I don’t have other pursuits, not of your kind.” He made a step towards her. “But you are so lovely, my beauty. You are a spirited and intemperate girl.” He grabbed her sleeve. “Give me your jewelry and come with me to the closest inn.”

An irate Megan replied between gritted her teeth, “I won’t allow any filthy man to put his paws on me,” she replied between the clenched teeth as she pushed the man away from her.

Megan was angry, so angry she could scarcely endure that. She threw herself at the man, suddenly, in such rage that she managed to catch him with a hard slap across his face. He cursed, catching her arms and shaking her. The thief tried to hit her in the face, but she twisted out of his grasp and slapped him again. Then she stepped backwards, while the thief stood rooted, glaring at her in hatred.

The people cried out in horror. The thief extracted a knife from his pocket, bellowed in rage, and attacked the lady. But Megan jumped aside and punched the man hard in his chest, then spat into his face and slapped him. He cursed and again advanced forward at Megan, but then someone pushed him aside from her and punched him in the stomach. It was Guy who interfered into the conflict between the lady and the thief. With a cry of pain, the thief fell to his knees, and Guy sprang on him from behind, wrapping his hands around his opponent’s throat.

Looking at the miserable man on the ground, Guy drew his sword, pointing its tip at the thief. “Go away, you coward,” he commanded, his eyes darkening with rage. He had never been able to watch young ladies abused and harassed by criminals. “Only low men and cowards harass women like you do. Leave before you regret that you tried to hit her.”

The thief laughed. “Are you gonna order me what to do?”

“I will kill you if you don’t leave now,” Guy said seriously. He straightened his spine and stepped away from the thief, his sword still unsheathed. Then he put his arm around Megan to keep her from falling. “I won’t allow you to hurt this lady,” he added, staring at the criminal.

Everyone in the crowd stared at Megan, Guy, and the thief. The people feared to interfere, hoping that Prince John’s guards would come and solve the matter. They didn’t recognize Guy in the lady’s savior, for Guy’s appearance had changed too much in the past months.

“You are the son of a whore,” the thief shouted as he got to his feet.

Guy smiled at Megan and stepped forward. The insult, which was so close to the truth, made his blood boil. He smashed his fist into the man’s face. The thief stumbled back, bellowing in pain. The crowd stood, watching the two men in a silence, as if they were mesmerized.

The thief looked between Guy and Megan, his vision blurred. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and a trickle of blood flowed from his mouth. He looked shocked at the sight of blood on his hands. Then he groaned in pain and collapsed on the ground unconscious.

Staring at Megan, Guy questioned, “Sweet Jesus, are you going to get yourself killed?”

Guy gasped as he recognized the woman who he had just saved. She was the lady-in-waiting whom he had seen near Queen Eleanor on the front steps. As he stood before her, he believed that she was even more stunning than he had thought. The young lady was exquisite and graceful. Despite his unwillingness to admit his feelings to himself, Guy felt tremors that had taken hold of him at the sight of her clever, deep blue eyes, her long, slender neck, and her alabaster skin.

Megan regarded Guy. She thought that she had never seen him before. She took in Guy’s appearance. His black boots were covered with mud. His eyes glistened with the imps of something lethal, dark, and mysterious. He was unkempt, but still very handsome. He looked like a weary traveler. His tall, imposing figure looked dangerous, his steel blue eyes sparkling like the steel of the blade in the bleak sunlight, and she felt danger emanating from him. Yet, the voice in the back of her head told her that his handsome face could hide mysteries of a broken heart. She was physically attracted to him very much.

A smiling Megan exclaimed, “You saved me from this madman!”

Guy shook his head. “One day, my lady, your willfulness may kill you.”

“Oh, you cannot know that for sure, sire,” Megan snapped irritably. She didn’t like when people pointed out her that willful nature was a curse rather than a blessing.

“You should stop wandering in the streets when you are dressed like a Queen,” he said emphatically, his eyes taking in her appearance. “Go home before you again become a victim of a thief.”

Megan came to a dead standstill, angry and offended, but her expression was proud and impenetrable. She nodded only, knowing that his words were true. “Actually, it is a sort of extreme situation even for me. It is the first time when I am almost robbed in the street,” she said neutrally.

Guy smirked. “It is unusual to find a woman like you walking in the streets alone and all the more surrounded by the armed men. The point is that your carelessness can make you a victim.”

She was becoming angrier, yet trying to maintain a sense of calm and dignity. “I am grateful for your help, but I am not interested in your opinion. I am a grown-up person, and I don’t need your guidance.”

Guy let out a short laugh. “You are _a willful and independent lady_ ,” he declared, the corners of his lips aching in a tiny smile. “But I wonder what the Queen Mother’s lady-in-waiting is doing here?”

Her deep blue eyes met his cold gaze without a flinch. She felt her fingers curl into fists and forced herself to unclench them. “How do you know who I am?” a frightened Megan needed to know. She masked her fear with sudden resentment and coldness.

“It is easy to guess,” he replied quietly as he turned toward the front steps of the castle. He jerked his head towards Buckingham’s carriage. “Look who is currently visiting Nottingham.”

As he uttered those words, Megan looked at the queen’s carriage, thinking of the unfortunate old lady who had been imprisoned at the order of her own son. “Well, today is truly an unusual day.”

Guy caught the direction of her gaze. His uneasy feeling increased, for he was sure that she was Queen Eleanor’s lady-in-waiting. “I am not your enemy, whatever happened to you in the castle,” he said in soothing tones. He realized that she was probably scared as he discovered her true allegiances.

Megan sighed, and her lashes fell. She closed her eyes, trying to regain her composure. Then she opened her eyes and stared at Guy, knowing that she wasn’t looking at him in the most disconcerted and distraught way because she could put on a show of pretense without the effort. “And why should I believe you?” she inquired, her voice cold.

“I am not your enemy,” Guy repeated.

“How can I know that?” she challenged.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

Guy sighed. “Actually, you are right, my lady.” He hung his head; the pelting and soul-shredding guilt for all his wrongdoings was grinding at her heart. His expression changed into a cameo of sadness and sorrow. “You have no reason to believe me, and neither has anyone else.”

Megan had always been the one who understood human nature better than other young women; Melisende, with whom Megan had grown at court in Aquitaine, had once told her that they both possessed a rare talent to understand even subtle changes in one’s personality. Now she clearly saw that the handsome stranger was the man whose heart was tearing apart in shame, pain, and grief. She didn’t know what had happened to him, but she felt that it was something really horrible.

“Are you alright?” Megan asked in an unnaturally soft voice. “Perhaps, I may somehow help you.”

He lifted his eyes at her, smiling wickedly. “My lady, are you going to save me from another thief or murderous criminal?” His gaze flicked to the unconscious man on the ground; he curled his mouth in a wry smile. “Or maybe you will save me from the same man who attacked you?”

She blinked. “And why can I not save you?”

“Well, perhaps you can, but definitely not now,” he said teasingly. “You are dressed like a courtier, and you even don’t have a dagger.”

His words angered Megan. Her elegant features were twisted in anger for an instant, and it was an unusual occurrence. “If I am a lady, it doesn’t mean that I cannot take care of myself.” She scoffed. “Maybe I need to be saved from you, my lord? After all, we have just heard the announcement that the most dangerous criminal in England – the murderer of Robin Hood – hasn’t been captured yet.”

Megan wanted to mock Guy by comparing him to Guy of Gisborne, and she definitely didn’t know how deadly her venomous remark had landed. Had she known the truth, she wouldn’t have even tried to involve Guy into a mocking duel as she often did with those who interested her and who infuriated her; Guy was exactly the man who fell into this category.

Guy clenched his jaw tightly, so tightly that it gave the appearance of chiseled ice. He took a step to her, towering dangerously over her. “You know nothing about me, my lady. Perhaps, I am indeed a dangerous criminal. Who knows?” A venomous sneer crossed his lips as he gazed into her eyes. “Maybe you indeed need to be more cautious with strangers.”

Megan realized that she had crossed the line. “I just don’t like when men dictate to us, women, what to do and what not to do.” She made an effort to make her voice sound softer. “And I don’t like when men make nasty remarks about women’s inability to do this or that.”

"You are too independent," was Guy's only response.

“Yes, and I am not dying of shame to say that aloud,” she declared.

For whatever reason, Guy couldn’t be angry with her. Instead, he smiled at the feisty girl whom he actually liked. “Go home and be careful.”

“Indeed, I must go now,” Megan said as she stared at him straight in the eye. “I am grateful that you were here. You saved me from being robbed. You saved my life as well.”

Guy gave her a wan smile. “Welcome, my lady.”

Megan gave him a dazzling smile. “I thank you for your help, but I am still inclined not to talk to someone who openly questions my independence and my ability to survive a small incident.” She tilted her head to one side. “I will better lift my hand and slap such a man across his impudent face.”

Guy veered his gaze to the thief who still lay unconscious on the ground. “Perhaps, I should have let that thief to deal with you. Then you wouldn’t have been so witty and so venomous.”

Anger gripped Megan’s heart. “How dare you tell me that? How dare you be so rude to me?”

He realized his mistake, feeling genuinely sorry that he had probably offended her. “I beg my pardon. I shouldn’t have said that.” He let out a slow, measured breath and closed his eyes for an instant; then he spoke a very gentle voice. “And if I have to take my sword and kill that thief or anyone else to protect you or any other innocent woman, I will do that.”

She granted him a confused look. “Could you really kill him?”

“Yes, I could,” Guy answered softly, “if I had to save you.”

She didn’t like when someone spoke about killing, but she, Queen Eleanor’s trusted person, had already learned what royals may do to unwanted people and their enemies. She would never forget that the queen had poisoned all of Prince John’s spies who had learned her secret about bastard son. She had killed only one man in her life when he had tried to rape her in one of the local taverns in Aquitaine where she had gone to spy on one of King Richard’s enemies at Queen Eleanor’s order; she had murdered that man with a dagger, and it had been a shock for her, but she had quickly recovered, to her own astonishment.

She let out a small smile. “Thank you for your protection. I am really touched.”

Guy sighed. “If I have to kill a criminal to save an innocent woman, I can kill anyone.”

“Certainly not everyone – not our king.”

Guy gave her a bleak smile. “Of course not.” He would have never tried to kill the king again.

Megan smiled. “I am sorry, but I have to leave, sire. I wish you to have a good evening and not to save any other unfortunate lady from a thief.” Then she strode forward and meddled with the crowd.

Guy watched the lady disappear in the crowd. Unexpectedly for himself, he laughed delightedly. He was greatly impressed by the lady, trying to guess who she was. He only knew that she was the same lady whom he had spotted near Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine. The Queen Mother had many ladies-in-waiting, but this one was unique. Something made him feel that she was an important person for Queen Eleanor. Maybe she was her confidante and even friend, he mused.

“Yeah, what a spirited lady!” Guy said to himself, and there was a large smile on his face.

The lady was definitely a free-spirited, fiery, and passionate soul. She welcomed to be as headstrong, willful, stubborn, adventurous, and wretched as she chose. She seemed to accept the situation in the street, in which she had found herself, in her own way. She clearly had a bright, inquisitive mind, and a great intelligence. She also had a stubborn streak within her that stretched for acres. He guessed that she was a spoiled child in her family, but she was also humored greatly and was compassionate enough to the people. He could see her teasing every man, had her way, and then rejected them all.

For his part, Guy was determined not to fight with the girl at the beginning, but her self-assurance and willfulness somehow angered him. It was difficult enough for him to be in Nottingham, and then he unexpectedly saw the young lady harassed by a street thief. He rushed to save the foolish girl from what the man could have done to her, and it appeared that he had come on time.

The shouts of Prince John’s guards snapped Guy out of his thoughts. Four guards in chainmail and pointed helmets, spears in their hands, stood blocking the path to the road where the Earl of Buckingham’s carriage had just passed. Blamire came to them, nodding towards the guards; he was followed by at least ten men, some of whom were Guy’s former man.

In the next moment, Queen Eleanor’s grand carriage appeared on the road. The front of the carriage was decorated with paintings of a golden lion on a plain-red background – the coat of arms of Aquitaine. The carriage was surrounded by at least thirty armed men who served in Prince John’s Elite Guard.

Guy saw the Queen Mother’s carriage. He cursed under his breath as he watched Queen Eleanor seat inside the carriage with some of her ladies, their faces somber. He had already understood that the prince had ordered to arrest Eleanor and imprison her. His mind floated to the lady whom he had just saved from the thief, and he wondered how one of the queen’s ladies had managed to escape. He hoped that she would be able to get away from the prince’s guards and contact someone of King Richard’s loyal men.

The carriage and its escort party drove onto a lane that faced the central square and headed to the gates of Nottingham. Even in spite of being wet to their bones, the people watched the departure of the Queen Mother and her entourage, standing along the road. Never before had the people seen such beautifully made carriages in the streets of Nottingham. The carriages of the Earl of Buckingham and Queen Eleanor were the objects of great magnificence and fascination.

Guy looked around, thinking that the town was even more crowded than they had initially thought. There seemed to be hundreds of Prince John’s guards and the town folks crowded in the streets and on the central square. He had to leave the courtyard and get into the castle, Guy reminded himself. Soon Vaisey would pay for all his crimes and betrayals, Guy took a silent oath. The sheriff was doomed to die today. Guy of Gisborne would kill the mighty Sheriff Vaisey of Nottingham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robin fans should be very happy because Robin Hood is alive and is not going to die. Robin regained his consciousness, but his life is still in danger because he is feverish and his wound is still infected. As you see, there were some complications preventing his recovery: Djaq and Prince Malik’s physician had to cut open the wound twice and remove the infected flesh. I introduced this twist not because I want to make Robin suffer: I needed our hero to be sick for many weeks, during the months while Guy, Marian, and others traveled to England from Acre.
> 
> Indeed, Robin died in Imuiz, but he came back to life: let’s assume that he had a clinical death as we call it in a modern language. According to my research, the Saracens, who had quite a progressive healthcare, called phenomenon of a temporary death “a semblance of death”. Robin will recover, but it will take much time for him to be as healthy as he was before the regicide attempt in Acre. 
> 
> Guy, Marian, and the others returned to Nottingham and had to face the unprecedented surprise Sheriff Vaisey and Isabella prepared for Guy. Robin is married to Melisende, the cousin of King Richard and Prince John, and it is logical that the murder of Robin in regicide attempt caused displeasure of many English and Poitevin lords. Robin’s death is not beneficial to Prince John at this stage, but the sheriff believes that he killed Robin. So they needed a scapegoat and they chose Guy who betrayed Prince John and the Black Knights and swore his fealty to King Richard. Vaisey never forgives betrayal.
> 
> I hope you liked the introduction of Megan Bennet into the storyline. Her portrayal in this story/novel is very different from the one we had on the show: Meg is more mature and more intelligent, but she is as brave and feisty as she was on the show. Meg has a very interesting and original background – she is Queen Eleanor’s confidante and lady-in-waiting. She grew up at court in Poitiers and received impeccable education there, so she is very different from many undereducated and simple English country girls and even ladies at court in London. I hope you liked Meg’s first meeting with Guy when Guy became her savior in the street.
> 
> In the next chapter, there should be the culmination of Guy's confrontation with the sheriff in England. There are also some surprises, and I want to ask you to be prepared for some shocking twists. The Earl of Buckingham didn’t arrive in Nottingham to drink for Prince John’s health – he has a special purpose for his visit.


	13. Vengeance

**Chapter 13**

**Vengeance**

Walking through a labyrinth of the streets, Megan was thinking about the man who had saved her life half an hour ago. She was affected by their meeting, even though it sounded absurd because she didn't even know his name. He was handsome, powerfully built and strong, and he had a dark charm that made every woman shiver with delight mingled with fear. She was intrigued by his strange personality and magnetized by the deadly, dark aura around him. The man was dangerous, but it attracted her to him ever more. She always loved a dangerous thrill and often courted danger deliberately, as if she were craving to contract a disease that can run rampant and lethal. If she had another chance to meet the man, she would be happy.

Megan stopped near the beautiful white-columned manor that crowned the street like a Greek temple and stood prouder than other houses in the neighborhood. It was the Attenborough Manor, the residence of Meg's family in Nottingham. She knocked at the front door and the servant opened it. As the old steward recognized his master's daughter, he immediately bowed deeply and began to fuss over the tired lady. Megan asked whether her father was at home. As she received a nod, she almost jumped in happiness that her father hadn't departed to their estates yet. She ran up the stairs.

She opened the door and entered the softly lighted room. She paused at the doorway, her eyes scanning the room. A fire was burning gently in the huge corner hearth, and she was relieved to finally be in the warmth of the manor after soaking in the rain. There was a large silver decanter of wine and a golden cup on the table near the window. She smiled as her gaze fell on her father, Sir Hugh Bennet of Attenborough, who sat at the table loaded with a pile of parchments and books, reading something.

"You have always been an avid reader, Father," Megan began, her heart beating faster.

Hugh raised his eyes from the book and stared at his daughter, his face splashing into a warm smile. "Meg, my dear, I didn't expect you to return from the castle so soon." He rose to his feet, his expression changing into sadness. "Though I think I know why you are already here."

Hugh was a middle-aged man, with expressive blue eyes, broad shoulders, and black curly hair, grizzled on the nape of his head. He was a high-spirited and energetic individual, a handsome aging man with a merry charm. He always had a smile and a kind word for everyone. Yet, he also had the aplomb and manners of a rich courtier after years of successful career at Prince Richard's court and in Richard's army, and he was a good and generous lord who, however, loved his people from a distance stemming from the natural differences in birth and class.

Hugh Bennet had been Richard Plantagenet's loyal knight throughout many years. He had retired from the service to Richard in the year of his liege's accession to the throne, at his own request and with Richard's blessing. Then Hugh had moved back to Nottingham whilst Megan had stayed in Aquitaine to finish her education and then serve the Queen Mother. Since Vaisey's arrival in the town, Hugh preferred to live in Attenborough instead of Nottingham in order to avoid meeting with the sheriff whom he deeply despised. Moreover, Hugh was staunchly loyal to Richard and had to keep his true allegiances in secret, but he played his role well and never said a word of disapproval about the sheriff's tyranny in public. Hugh rarely attended the Council of Nobles, always using his poor health as an excuse; he had even spread rumors that he had been suffering from an old war wound so that nobody could doubt the reasons for his preference to live in his estates in peace.

Megan approached her father, and he pulled her into his arms, happy to see his only surviving child at home. She missed him so much that she almost smothered him in a strong embrace.

"Queen Eleanor has been arrested at Prince John's order, but I escaped," she said as she drew back from her father. "And Sir Robin of Locksley is dead."

Hugh looked distressed. "My steward has already returned from the central square, where Prince John made the announcement about the murder of Sir Robin of Locksley by Sir Guy of Gisborne."

"Yes, it is true. I was there and heard everything."

He twisted his fingers nervously. "I feared that Prince John would arrest the Queen Mother as soon as I heard about her arrival in Nottingham. Obviously, John cannot allow her to be free now."

Megan frowned. "Do you really think that Prince John will try to take the throne?"

"Of course, my lark," Hugh said tiredly. "Prince John is becoming stronger in King Richard's absence."

"So everything is so serious."

"It is more than serious, Meg. John can become King of England."

Megan felt her heart beating faster. "Do you think that Prince John… killed King Richard?"

Hugh shrugged. "Perhaps," he said grimly. "It seems that Vaisey and Gisborne failed to kill the king in Acre, but it is possible that they succeeded in killing our liege on the way from Acre to England."

"Oh, my God!" she said, shocked. "The king cannot be dead!"

"Meg, you are not a naïve girl, though you are young. You know that John can do everything to seize the throne because he hates Richard and wants him dead." He let out a sigh of grief. "The king should have already arrived home, but nobody knows where he is now."

"Maybe the weather was bad, and the king had to wait for storms to abate."

Hugh settled into a gilded armchair, then folded his arms over his chest. "I don't know what to think," he said grimly. "Many Crusaders have already returned, but there is still no sign of the king."

Megan seated herself into a high-back chair beside him. "What can we do, Father?"

"To be honest, I am utterly at a loss now."

"Oh," she breathed.

There was something else Hugh wanted to ask her. "Did Queen Eleanor tell you something before you escaped? Did she tell you what you should do?"

"Her Grace asked me to find Sir Roger de Lacy, one of the king's most loyal men."

"Ah, Meg!" Hugh exclaimed, his forehead creased in frowns of distress. "I have to disappoint you because we don't know how to find Roger de Lacy." He let out a sigh of frustration. "I haven't heard anything about him, and he hasn't returned to his estates and to Locksley yet."

"He is probably traveling with King Richard," she assumed.

"Then we should wait a little bit."

Megan threw up her hands. "How can we wait, Father? The king disappeared and we must find him! We cannot allow Prince John to overthrow or kill our king! We must stop the prince!"

A smiling Hugh surveyed his daughter's lovely face, feeling proud of her loyalty to England and the king. He had always been staunchly loyal to Queen Eleanor and Prince Richard, thinking that treason was the worst thing a man could commit to his country and do to his honor. He loathed everyone who had ever admitted a single thought about committing regicide and plotting in any way against a king or a queen. Yet, even knowing that Guy of Gisborne was the Black Knight and had attempted regicide in Acre, he always tried to justify the young misguided man, for he knew that Guy was Richard's half-brother, although he didn't know anything about Robin's true parentage.

"It is not easy, Meg."

"But we have to do something," she stated with resolution.

"These are very few things we can do," Hugh said, a trace of regret creeping into his voice. "I would have tried to find the king by myself, but I cannot leave England because I am too old and feeble to travel." He sighed. "Once I was young and fought with Prince Richard in all his wars on the continent, but now I am better to stay at home, though I am not suffering from the chronic wound as Vaisey thinks."

"How are you feeling now, Father?" she asked with concern.

Hugh gave her a weak smile. "Not as good as I would want, but not as bad as it could be." He sighed. "But now there are more pressing concerns than my health."

Megan nodded. "I won't sit and watch the Black Knights destroy the king and England – I will act."

"Now Prince John and the Black Knights will be desperate," Hugh speculated, his eyes brows raised as his brain was working hard. "The prince's announcement means that the Black Knights failed to assassinate the king in Acre because Sir Robin of Locksley stopped Sir Guy of Gisborne in time and sacrificed his life for our king." He emitted a grievous sigh, his expression morbid. "But I have no doubt that they will try to kill the king again, if they hadn't already done that."

Megan jumped to her feet and began pacing the room. In telling her once more that the king's life was in danger, if she had ever doubted the gravity of the situation before, it was brought to her once again by her father. For some time, they didn't speak, and Megan paced, pacing the study back and forth, thinking about the ways she could use to understand what moves against King Richard Prince John and the Black Knights were planning to make in the coming months. She and her father felt their nerves shaken at the thought that the king could already be dead.

She stopped pacing and stopped near the hearth, looking at Hugh. "Ah, Father," she said with a dark smile. "Prince John is playing a dirty game, and we have to learn the rules of his game." She winked at him. "Then we will have to play better than anyone else." She laughed. "If you are involved in all these courtly games and weave political plots, you have to follow one important rule – just think and play, try to have some fun, enjoy if you can, never miss opportunities and never allow anyone to outwit and outsmart you."

Hugh looked at Megan in adoration and found himself nodding. He had no doubt that she understood the rules of court life better than other girls of her age, especially country girls.

Megan had grown up at royal court in Aquitaine, where she had been under a far-reaching influence of literature, poetry, music, and art. Young Prince Richard had called Megan a gifted child and had commanded to place her into Melisende's household so that she could have benefited from access to the excellent tutors hired for royalty. After Queen Eleanor's release from captivity upon King Henry II's death, Megan had started serving in the queen's household and over time had become her favorite lady-in-waiting. That was good and advantageous, Hugh thought, but it also had a negative implication – his daughter had to place her life in danger when she spied for Queen Eleanor.

Hugh was immensely worried about Megan's safety. He easily guessed what Megan was intending to do in Nottingham – to collect information for Queen Eleanor, to work against Prince John in collaboration with King Richard's loyal men, and to stop the prince at any cost. His daughter's secret life as Queen Eleanor's spy frightened Hugh because he didn't want to lose her, for Prince John was ruthless and pitiless towards his enemies. Yet, he would have never prohibited Megan from helping the king and the queen because she was one of the very few people who could do something against the usurper in shadows. He prayed that Megan would be careful to avoid being discovered and captured.

"And you already have an idea?"

Megan walked with a slow, regal gait, her full hips swaying like a fresh summer breeze. She seated herself beside her father. "I always have a plan," she said. "We will save the king and England."

"Your pretty head has always worked like that of a man," he remarked in awe of her determination and dedication. But then he sighed, thinking that her head could also be her downfall if she wasn't cautious in the process of implementing one of her extravagant and risky plans.

She was silent for a moment as she thought. Then a conspiratorial smile appeared on her face. "I need to have access to the inner sanctum," she said at last.

"Hmm," he grunted. "I have to disappoint you, my dear. I doubt that Prince John will recruit you into the Black Knights Club."

She arched a brow. "Is that so because I am a woman? Oh, I was going to say a lady, of course."

Hugh chuckled. "Do I need to remind you that I have never considered women inferior creatures?"

She smiled cordially. "I know, Father. You are not like many other men who want their wives to stay at home, run a household, obey their orders, and bear their children." She laughed. "Such men don't know that a woman's heart has more secrets than there are stars in the sky. They don't know that women are often more courageous and stronger than men are."

His expression became wistful. "Your mother was a strong and willful woman."

"Do you miss her?" Her voice was very soft, like a whisper on the wind.

His wife Aveline had been the sense of his life, and her death had almost killed him years ago. He had never remarried as nobody could replace her in his heart, and had devoted his life to his daughter and Prince Richard. "Yes," he answered. "She was the only woman whom I have ever loved." He dragged a deep breath; his heart ached for the loss. "She was everything to me."

Megan smiled. Her father always spoke about his deceased wife with reverence, love, and devotion, which made her heart leap in delight. She had never seen her mother who had died in several hours after giving birth to her, and her father's memories were like words of life because deep, almost holy love was melted into them. "I would love to see her at least once in my life."

Hugh smiled back at her. "I am sure that she is watching you from Heaven, Meg."

"Yes, she is."

"Your mother used to say that for a smart woman a man is not a problem – he is a solution."

"I absolutely agree with mother. She was more than a smart woman – she was a true equal of any man," Megan asserted with somber dignity. "A smart woman can see more than others, and she can always get the fulfillment of her most dangerous wishes." Her face lit up with a cunning smile as she locked her gaze with her father's. "And I am a smart lady who already has a plan."

Hugh chuckled. "Are you planning to sneak into the castle at night and check Lady Isabella of Gisborne's correspondence?" he asked. "I bet you may find something interesting from Prince John."

"You are a mind reader, Father," she answered, winking at him.

Hugh cast his eyes down in a sublime impulse of worry. "You must be very careful," he said seriously. "We don't know what is really going on. Guy of Gisborne worked for Sheriff Vaisey, but now he is the most wanted outlaw in England because Prince John doesn't need him anymore."

Megan looked into the flames. "It seems that Prince John learned about Robin of Lockley's murder already after the deed was done." Her expression became thoughtful. "But Sir Robin was married to the cousin of both the king and the prince, and Prince John doesn't benefit from his death. Now he can get only severe headaches because nobles of Aquitaine, nearly all of them supporters of King Richard and Queen Eleanor, will openly accuse him of an attempt on the king's life and Sir Robin's murder."

"Yes," her father agreed, heaving a deep sigh. "The nobles of Aquitaine must be shocked with the news about Robin of Locksley's death." He sighed again. "I think his death was accidental rather than planned because he was a brilliant soldier. I doubt that Prince John commanded Vaisey to kill him after his wedding to Lady Melisende Plantagenet."

She shook her head in agreement. "Prince John is much cleverer than he seems at first glance."

"He is a pretender in all senses – he is the fake King of England and the fake Softsword as well."

She nodded. "Undoubtedly."

"Maybe Sir Guy didn't kill Sir Robin," Hugh said, with something bitter stealing unawares into his tone. "He can be a scapegoat in the whole matter, but we cannot say anything for sure."

Her face changed to an expression of utter bewilderment. "What do you mean?"

"Vaisey returned to Nottingham without Gisborne. Maybe it means something."

"Perhaps," she echoed.

Megan and her father shared uneasy glances, tormented by anxiety and misgivings.

"I can always read your mind, Meg," he continued, fixing his eyes on his daughter's face with stern anxiety. "You are clever and cunning, but you may be so recklessness! Now you must be more attentive and stay out of trouble if you are planning to play spy games in the castle."

"Heaven help me!" she groaned. "Now is my hour of triumph because I can help the king and the Queen Mother! I can finally do something for England as I have always wanted!"

Hugh shook his head disapprovingly. "Your passion for adventure can cost much, even your life."

"Father, I know that you will rather see me protected at all times, but if you do this to me, I will never be happy and even content with my life."

He sighed, resigned. "You are like a bird that cannot be caged," he said softly. "You have a freedom-loving spirit, and I will never do anything to take your freedom from you because I want you to be happy." He smiled. "I just ask you to be overcautious."

Megan smiled slightly. "I have been spying for the Queen Mother for quite some time, and I never failed any mission. Nonetheless, I understand that now situation is very different, and I promise that I won't make irresponsible decisions and take unjustified risks."

"Good," he said, relieved. He looked outside. "It's almost dark," he added with a low drawl.

She gestured towards the hearth where the fire had died out. "We need to light the torches and set the fire in the hearth." She shivered slightly. "It is already cold here."

Hugh eyed her with concern. "Are you cold, Meg?"

"A little bit," she said, dismissing his concern.

"Do you want to have dinner? You must be hungry!"

"What a good idea!" She laughed. "The belly is an ungrateful thing because it never remembers what you ate before and it always wants more tomorrow."

"Well said," Hugh said as he climbed to his feet. "Let's go to the dining room."

They left the study and descended the dark staircase, lost in gloomy thoughts about the Queen Mother and the King of England. Against her will, Megan again caught herself on the thought about her mysterious stranger, and she was again astonished how deeply his image had already been engraved into her memory. Hugh and Megan heard the rustle of a servant girl's dress on the lowest landing, and she was pulled out of her dreams. Now it was time for family dinner and privacy.

During the dinner, Megan was trying to listen to her father, who was talking about the years of his life in Aquitaine and the battles he had fought alongside King Richard; no word spoken about Robin's death, the Queen Eleanor's arrest, or the King's disappearance. Perhaps it was the unrelenting tension of standing on the threshold of her new mission and the emotional exhaustion she felt, but soon she found herself unable to follow his train of thought, but she feigned her interest in their discussion.

She finished off her drink, thought about having another, and opted for eating venison instead. Her mind was engrossed in thoughts of her savior. Her expression suddenly turned absent-minded and she blinked as the image of the excessively handsome face flashed in her mind. She felt her heart hammering harder and harder, her breath caught for a moment. Her father said something else, but she didn't hear him. Time stilled and she felt the heat filling her. She looked at her father but saw her savior's face, and one thought came over and over again – she wanted to see him again.

Hugh noticed his daughter's distant gaze and stopped talking. "Meg, are you alright?"

Megan made a slight, formal apology for being distracted; then she was quiet for a while, drinking wine. "You don't need to worry about me. I am fine," she assured him.

"It would have been so much better if you were already married," he said suddenly, his expression turning into seriousness. "I know that you can take care of yourself and don't need a man's hand for guidance in life, but I am worried about what will happen to you after I am gone."

"Father, please don't say that! You have many years ahead! You are not going to die!"

He gave her a long, penetrating gaze. "Meg, a man of my age can catch a cold today and die tomorrow, and it is only a matter of time before it happens," he said in a rhetoric fashion, smiling sadly. "If I die, you will become King of England's ward as you are unmarried." He sighed. "I have no doubt that King Richard will take care of you and your inheritance; he has always liked your dearly and will treat you fairly." He trailed off for a moment; then he said on in a low, strangled voice, "But if Prince John ascends the throne… for any reason, he will try to use you to his advantage in all possible ways."

Megan made no answer, her heart swelling with fear, for she knew that her father was right. If she became John's ward, she would be either married off to one of his capricious, self-indulgent, and vile minions or forced to become his mistress. "I know where you are going, father," she responded after a pause. "You are rather disposed to bring to my attention that I need to find a husband."

Hugh gave a nod. "Yes, Meg," he confirmed. "Being married to a good, honest man is not a bad thing, and there are not only corrupt traitors in the Angevin Empire."

She turned her head away, staring into the orange flames of the candles. "I don't want to marry a man whom I don't love. So far I haven't met a man who would have touched my heart."

"Meg," he called softly, and she swung her gaze to him. "You were never betrothed, though you had many suitors, many of them rich and powerful landlords. I have never pressured you to marry anyone, though I could have arranged a marriage for you as soon as you reached a marriageable age."

Megan smiled affectionately. Her father was not like others, and she was grateful to him for that. "Thank you for not pressuring me. I would have never married a man whom I distaste and disrespect." She wrinkled her nose in disgust as she recalled one of her suitors whom she had rejected in an especially rueful manner. "I would have never tied the knot with a man like the Baron of Rotherham who pursued me like a mosquito and threatened to kidnap me from Poitiers if I didn't agree to marry him; only Queen Eleanor's interference stopped him. At that time I didn't know yet that he is the Black Knight and tried to kill the king."

Hugh still remembered the horror that had taken possession of him as he had read the Queen Mother's letter in which she had notified him about Rotherham's despicable behavior. "But not all men are like Rotherham. There are decent and good men, like Robin of Locksley."

Megan nodded, and her expression evolved into the one of despondency. "Lord Huntingdon was a great and rare man."

"May Sir Robin's gentle and kind soul rest in peace," Hugh said as he crossed himself.

They were quiet for a long moment, silently giving tribute to Robin of Locksley; then they drained their goblets in his memory. Then Hugh resumed speaking, this time about the state of affairs in his estates. But Megan was again thinking of the stranger who had impressed her so much. Somehow, in the depths of her heart, she knew that it wasn't their last meeting, though if she had known the real name of her savior, she would have burst into laughter of shock and disbelief.

§§§

After the sheriff's men had ordered the crowd to disperse, a great mass of people surged towards the streets leading to the central courtyard of Nottingham, and in their midst were Marian, Guy, Allan, Little John, and Much. As they stopped near one of the buildings in the narrow lane, Marian ran her eyes across their small group, but there was no Guy and her heart sank into her throat.

She glanced at Allan, and the color drained from her face. "Where is Guy?"

Allan shrugged. "He has some business."

A faint frown etched Marian's forehead. "What kind of business?"

"Maz, I don't know." Allan sounded helpless.

Much put a hand on the hilt of the Saracen scimitar, Robin's scimitar, which he always had with him after Robin's death. "It is raining, and we will be soaked to the bone if we stay here. We should go to the inn and eat something. I am so hungry. I want pork, goose, and meat and some wine. I will die of hunger if we don't eat soon."

"Much, don't rant," Little John grumbled.

Marian stared numbly at Allan, her thoughts jumbled as she felt the edge of panic. The exterminatory suspicion took hold of her. The threat of danger cleared her head instantly and a fearful light entered her eyes as she clenched her fists. Not wasting time, she turned on her heel and blended with the crowd of people.

"Marian! Marian!" Allan screamed in frustration mingled with worry.

Little John frowned. "What happened to her?"

"Yeah, Marian is clever. Did she go to the inn to eat?" Much's face was absolutely innocent.

"Oh, Much." John shot him a dark look.

"I am saying nothing," Much mumbled.

"Marian may do something stupid," John voiced his fears. "Where is Gisborne?"

"Gone," Allan breathed.

John looked alarmed. "Where is he?"

"The sheriff," Allan's reply was short.

Realization struck them with a stunning force – Guy had gone after the sheriff and Marian had left to find him. They shared perplexed looks, unable to decide on the course of action. They really missed Robin and needed his leadership to guide them at that moment.

Inside the Castle of Nottingham, the court feasted lavishly, and, in the great hall, there was merriment in the air. Tables were leaden heavily with an orgy of delicate food, and rivers of wine flowed. Looking at the bemused faces of the guests, Prince John spoke a long speech in the honor of Robin of Locksley. Then the prince ordered to continue feasting, and some people cringed that splendid celebration followed the prince's memorial speech.

Like Richard and his mother, who loved Aquitanian motives and the art of troubadours, Prince John was also very fond of music. Musicians played the great music as the banquet progressed, and there was a lot of lively conversation. As the last notes of the melody died away, the nobles and knights began to shuffle their feet and clear their throats, but before anyone could speak, Prince John rose to his feet and glanced over the guests, one hand raised up to silence them.

Prince John smiled. "My dear friends, I pray that you will remember my generosity and my gifts. All I ask for in return is your loyalty and your love. I know how to reward loyalty if you side with me." Then he sat down and leaned back in his chair.

The sheriff sat on the prince's right side. "Sire, I have some sweet news for you," he said as he bent his head closer to John.

John gave him a prying glance. "Tell me, Lord Vaisey! Is it what I think?"

"A clue: yes. Your brother Richard is going to have a small... complication on his way back to England," Vaisey informed, his lips lengthening in an ugly sneer. "Like your beloved mother, he will have a chance to have a long and nice… philosophical chat only with himself in the coming months."

"Splendid!" John cried out appreciatively. "Duke Leopold agreed, didn't he? Is the deed done?"

"Almost done, my king," Vaisey said, grinning wickedly, his eyes blazing with excitement mingled with malevolence. "If your brother has reached Austria, then he has already been… detained."

The prince burst out laughing. "Bravo, Lord Vaisey. Your plan is great."

Vaisey leered. "I will do everything for you, milord."

Still smiling, John narrowed his eyes and waggled his finger at the sheriff. "But I still remember that you failed to get rid of Richard in Acre; if you fail again, you will suffer the consequences." He sighed. "And I didn't need Locksley's death during an attempted regicide."

"I didn't know about the changes in your plans, my liege. You had instructed us to kill Hood before we departed to Acre." The sheriff's heart pounded in his chest as he waited for the prince's answer.

Prince John's face darkened. "It is true, but at that moment I didn't know about my cousin's marriage to Hood. There is discontent amongst many Aquitanian nobles, who love Richard and my mother. They swore their fealty to Robin of Locksley as the new Count de Bordeaux, and then he was murdered… by you." He let out a deep sigh. "Now they say behind my back that I ordered to kill Locksley."

The sheriff looked apologetic, his gaze almost humble. "Milord, you told me that you wanted to check our loyalties! Gisborne failed and betrayed you choosing King Richard over you, whilst I have always been loyal to you… I would have never killed Locksley if I knew that you hadn't wanted that."

John feigned grief. "I know that you killed him by chance…" He wiped his eyes with the back of his palm, a theatrical gesture of despair. "It eases the burden from my heart."

Vaisey smiled widely. "Anyway, Lady Isabella and I made up a new plan: we didn't do anything bad to Hood, but Gisborne did."

John gurgled with a laugh. "Gisborne will pay for his death. I hate this traitor. I want his blood." He took Isabella's hand. "Lady Isabella, it was an excellent idea to make your brother a scapegoat."

Isabella laughed in a good-natured way. "My liege, I don't deserve this praise. I can begin to taste the wine of glory only when you are the king."

Isabella wore a mask. She pretended that she was indifferent to Robin of Locksley's death. Yet, the only thing that she regretted doing in the Holy Land was her contribution to Robin's death. When Robin had fought with the sheriff in Imuiz, she had been sure that he would kill Vaisey and she would have to escape alone. Yet, the most unexpected had happened – the sheriff had murdered Robin. It would be better if Guy of Gisborne had been killed the sheriff instead of Robin. Strangely, she was even pleased that Melisende was pregnant, for she didn't wish the Huntingdon line to die out.

Prince John leaned forward, his face close to the sheriff's. "Vaisey, I will pardon you for everything, for all your failures, if only you get rid of my brother." He smiled. "I can even forget about your failure to find my mother's bastard son… if I become king."

The sheriff drank some wine, his mind racing. He was unnerved, but his face remained impassive. "Sire, you will be a king very soon. The Angevin Empire doesn't have the amount of money Duke Leopold is going to demand as a ransom." He smiled guilefully. "King Philippe is our ally too. You have powerful international support against your absent brother."

"I believe we already have _an outstanding deal_." The prince smiled festively.

Vaisey smiled, his jeweled tooth gleaming in the candlelight. "Oh, yes, my king. The deal is amazing."

"Cunning is one of my best virtues," the prince retorted. "And one of yours too, Lord Vaisey."

The sheriff bowed. "We have much in common… and I am always at your disposal."

Prince John turned his gaze at Isabella. He took her hand, and her trembling fingers interlaced with his. "I missed you while you were in the Holy Land, Isabella," he said in a voice rough with desire. He kissed her hand, so gently, and looked into her eyes with longing. "I needed your fire and your passion, my dear."

"I am burning for you," Isabella replied with a provocative smile on her face.

John clutched at Isabella's hands, and the words poured out of him. "Say it. Like you did before, say it." His eyes were almost begging her.

"King John," Isabella whispered.

"It does sound so good," the prince purred.

The Earl of Buckingham entered the great hall. He strode across the chamber and stopped near the table where Prince John, Sheriff Vaisey, and Isabella of Gisborne sat. Buckingham was in exhilarated spirits, for Gisborne had been outlawed and his way to get what he wanted was free.

"Sire, let me thank you for your invitation to this feast. I am happy to serve you in any way you want," Buckingham said sweetly as he bowed deeply to the prince.

Prince John laughed. "Don't spend more time bowing to me than necessarily."

Buckingham straightened his spine, and his eyes locked with the prince's. "I will do exactly what you want, sire. I am your loyal servant and subject."

"You are a charming and devoted servant, Lord Buckingham," the prince declared. "I promise you will get your reward." He sipped wine and then slammed the goblet on the table. "As soon as Gisborne learns about the proclamation, he will come here. Then we will deal with him."

"My brother will pay for high treason," Isabella stated.

"Oh, Isabella, I will give Gisborne to you! He is yours as long as you are mine." John's face expression was dreamy; the heat was building in his body. "I want the feast to be over. I want to be alone with you."

"I am always yours, sire," Isabella pledged.

"Lady Isabella, you are really magnificent. Very few women can do what you did for us in the Holy Land," Vaisey said with respect.

Isabella was pleased. "It is nothing." Her heart began to thump. "I will do everything for my king."

"The glory of love is better than the glory of arms," Buckingham retorted. "But even being in love, we cannot forget that we are brothers-in-arms and that we have to fight for your throne, sire."

"Buckingham, we have already arranged… _a small surprise_ for King Richard," Vaisey interjected.

Buckingham smiled. "It was a great plan, Lord Vaisey."

Vaisey smiled. "My head is full of plans to please my king."

"Lord Buckingham, I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for establishing so many international alliances against my brother," John said in sweet tones. "You allied us with King Philippe. You went to Austria and conducted negotiations with Duke Leopold." He looked between Vaisey and Buckingham. "It was Vaisey's idea to make an alliance with Duke Leopold, but you executed it technically."

The Earl of Buckingham smiled. "Sire, I am yours. I am ready to give my life for you."

"You did a great job," the prince praised.

Isabella took in the smiling faces of the prince, the sheriff, and the earl. She knew that she had to be cautious with them, even in spite of having Prince John's favor as his lover. She distasted Buckingham and Vaisey, but she had to pretend. She would make a decisive move later.

"Long Live King John!" Isabella cried out; she needed that to feed the prince's ego with thoughts of kingship.

"Long live King John!" Vaisey echoed.

"Our great King John!" the Earl of Buckingham shouted.

"Long live me," John drawled, savoring the words on his tongue, turning them over and over again in his mind. "Long live me," he repeated.

Meanwhile, Guy sneaked into the underground tunnels under the castle, which he knew rather well as he himself had hired workers to build them. He walked quickly through the main tunnel and then strode up the stairs and along a long corridor. The rain had stopped when he emerged from the tunnel system on the surface, and he found himself in the darkness despite the profusion of torches flaring in the castle.

He swiftly crossed the inner courtyard within the walls of the castle, and then walked towards the strong room. But he didn't enter and instead hid himself in the adjacent secret passageway, from where he could observe the inner courtyard. There was nobody around, but he could hear the distant sounds of music and he could see many other things. His plan was simple – wait for the end of the feast and then go to Vaisey's bedchamber.

Guy shut his eyes, serious thoughts running through his mind. The long years of his service to Vaisey had been filled with humiliation, misery, despair, self-loathing, and hatred for Robin of Locksley. But everything had changed, and now it seemed to him that in his quest for power and wealth he had lost himself and turned against everything his mother Ghislaine had taught him in his childhood, against all the people from the old happy life, against his mother's belief in him. Only Vaisey's death would probably give him his solace, he mused.

His mind drifted back to his former enemy, and he smothered a scream of anguish. "Robin, if you hear me and watch me from Heaven, I want you to know something," he thought, looking at the sky. "I will kill Vaisey because he is the main reason for my misery." He clenched his teeth. "Robin, you told me in the Holy Land that I cannot accept my own faults, and you were correct. But I have changed."

Guy felt at peace for the first time in many years only after the trip to Acre – after the revelation of Guy's true parentage and his dramatic reconciliation with Robin. He no longer hated Robin and Malcolm of Locksley. He no longer blamed himself for the deaths of Ghislaine and Roger of Gisborne, whom he had stopped calling his father. Now Guy admired and respected Robin, and he could freely speak about the changes in his feelings for Robin. At the same time, Guy was convinced that they could have never been close friends if Robin had survived.

"I will kill Vaisey for England, for King Richard, for Robin Hood, for my mother, and for myself," Guy whispered into the darkness. "I will be the executioner of the devil of Nottingham."

Nobody discovered Guy who stood, craning his neck over the wall, except for Kate of Locksley. The young woman smiled slyly, thinking that she had a perfect opportunity to take revenge on Gisborne for the murder of her rightful lord – Robin of Locksley – and, most importantly, for the death of her brother Matthew. Perhaps God smiled upon her, sending her on Guy's path. Gisborne would pay for his crimes.

Kate had been working in the castle since Vaisey's departure to Acre. She had gone there with the purpose to kill Gisborne after his return. Despite the current tax paradise in Locksley, Kate didn't mind having three hundred pounds for Gisborne's capture. Tables were turned, and Gisborne was an outlaw. Now she would help capture him and get her reward.

With these thoughts, Kate of Locksley walked to the great hall, but she was stopped by Prince John's guards near the entrance. She tried to make her way through the guards, telling them that she urgently needed to speak with the prince, but she wasn't permitted to enter.

The Earl of Buckingham approached Kate, and the guards who held her arms in a firm grip. "What is going on here?" His voice was edged with notes of displeasure. "Why are you here, lass?"

"I need Prince John," Kate announced, her head high, as if she were one of the guests at the feast.

The Earl of Buckingham laughed. "Do you fancy our beloved King John?"

"I know something that will interest him." Kate was getting angry.

Buckingham chuckled. "And what do you want to tell the prince, lass?"

"That's a secret, I am afraid." Kate tried to wrench out of the guards' grip, but they only laughed at her. "My lord, please tell these rude men to release me."

"Release her," the Earl commanded.

"Thank you, my lord." Kate raised her chin, staring at Buckingham. "Let me go to Prince John."

"Do you want to give him a kiss?" A wicked smile spread over Buckingham's lips. He eyed her, thinking that she was lovely enough to be his bedmate. "Or perhaps you will give me a kiss?"

"I have information about Guy of Gisborne," Kate said straightforwardly, ignoring the Earl's impudent hints.

"Is that true?" The Earl of Buckingham raised a quizzical brow.

Kate nodded. "Yes."

"You are a courageous and pretty girl," Buckingham, retorted. He made a step to her and squeezed her shoulder. "If you have deceived me, you will pay. Is that clear?"

Kate shook her head. "I am not lying. I know where Gisborne is."

"I want to believe you," Buckingham said with a large, cunning smile. "Come with me."

Her lashes fluttering like wings of startled birds, Kate nodded and followed Buckingham. He snapped his fingers, and two guards trailed behind them. Kate was happy, thinking that she had won.

Gisborne spent the waiting time reminiscing about the past. Suddenly, in the torch-flickering darkness, Guy noticed Vaisey's figure moving up the spiral staircase that led to the tower room. His heart pounding, he left his hiding place and followed the sheriff. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, and then climbed the stairs. The sound of Guy's footsteps was silenced by lazy laughter that floated from the corridor where drunken noblemen were harassing servant girls.

Guy opened the door to the tower room and paused for an instant. The hair on his neck prickled, and his nerves were taut, his teeth were on edge. From the small sounds that drifted to his straining ears, Guy knew that the sheriff was there. His hand slid down to the hilt of the broadsword, and he breathed an unconscious sigh of relief. At least, he thought grimly, it would be a one-to-one combat.

Guy craved for vengeance and absolution. He could become a better man, but Vaisey stood between him and redemption. The sheriff was doomed to die. His mission to kill Vaisey was sacred. After Vaisey's death, he would become his own man – not Vaisey's henchman, not Guy of Gisborne, not Gisborne, and even not Sir Guy – he would be simply Guy.

Guy came inside, his eyes scanning the room in search for his former master. Gazing into the darkness, the sheriff stood near the battlement, his back turned to Guy.

Sensing the danger, Vaisey swung around. "Oh, Gisborne! I am happy to see you! This is a pleasant evening! A little chilly and rainy, but the air is fresh." His voice was rancorous and viperous, as always.

Guy drew his sword. "Soon the evening will be more pleasant."

Vaisey laughed fiendishly. "Oh, Gizzy! My beloved Gizzy! How are you doing, my boy?" His grin grew wider. "How was your trip from Acre? It is so bad that it rains rather rarely in the summer and autumn in the Holy Land! You could have mourned for Robin Hood together with nature!"

"Robin's death was tragic and unfair," Guy said seriously, in a firm and confident voice. "But I am glad that he saved King Richard from you."

The sheriff laughed. "Gisborne, did you listen to our proclamation?" He laughed again. "I didn't go to Acre – you tried to assassinate King Richard and murdered Robin Red Breast. You are the murderer of England's beloved hero," he mocked. "Gizzy – dizzy – drizzly! Your name is funny, my boy! I am dizzy that you are here! I am so pleased to see you! The weather is welcoming you back in Nottingham: God gives us drizzling rain on the day of your return."

Guy said nothing and instead lunged at the sheriff. The furious rage consumed him, and his only desire was to kill the source of his misery and problems – Vaisey. The sheriff sidestepped to avoid the blow. Guy advanced forward, and Vaisey took a step back.

"You are doomed to die tonight." With a howl of rage, Guy swung his sword at the sheriff's head.

"Oh, Gisborne, you are so high-spirited today." Giggling as if he were enjoying their battle, Vaisey ducked and picked up a wooden candlestick, blocking an overhead blow.

The sheriff kicked Guy back with the candlestick, knocking him on his back to the stone floor. Vaisey brought down the candlestick, but Guy rolled over and swiftly jumped to his feet. Guy swung his sword and launched a new attack on the sheriff.

Guy almost cornered the sheriff, pointing his sword at his enemy's chest. "Now it is much, much better.”

"You want to kill me, don't you?"

"I want to take my revenge!" Guy said through the tightly clenched teeth. "You represent everything that's loathsome in a man."

"You represent the same, my boy."

"No!" Guy cried out briskly. "You taught me to kill and torture. If I had never met you, I would have been a normal man! I wouldn't have become a despicable traitor!"

Vaisey smiled. "Oh, Gisborne, I want to play with you." He sent his former henchman an air kiss. "Did you like my gift to you, Gizzy? Does it make you happy that everyone thinks you killed the hero?"

Guy lunged at the sheriff. "No, Robin's death doesn't make me happy."

Vaisey's gaze turned intrigued. "Gisborne, have you gone mad? Were your brains cooked under the sun of the Holy Land?"

"Robin of Locksley is no longer my enemy. You are my enemy." Guy swung his sword at the sheriff. "You are the lowest scum on earth!"

The sheriff looked confused, but then he scowled. "I thought you liked me. I was so fond of you, Gisborne." He retreated as Guy again lunged at him. "You were fond of me, too." His tone turned harsher. "But you betrayed me and joined your forces with Robin Hood against me."

Guy swung his sword diagonally, but the sheriff ducked behind a pillar. Trying to defend himself, Vaisey pulled a flaming torch off the wall and held it out at Gisborne. Guy took a step back, a gust of black rage sweeping through him; he attacked the sheriff again, but the older man grabbed his sword arm and swung the torch at him. Gisborne ducked and punched his rival in the stomach. Groaning in pain and cursing aloud, Vaisey staggered backwards and fell to the floor.

"I will be rid of you," Guy hissed, looking down at the sheriff.

Vaisey laughed, his hand searching for the dagger in the pocket of his doublet. "Quickly, quickly, please, I beg you." He laughed, feigning his fear. "Have mercy on me. You owe me a lot – I could have killed you in Normandy for your debt, but I spared your life."

Gisborne pressed his sword to the sheriff's throat. "I owe you nothing."

"You would have starved to death without me. You would have died a long time ago without me."

An even more enraged Guy pressed the blade tighter to his opponent's neck. "You have no idea how much pleasure this is going to give me. You are going to die slowly and painfully, very painfully. I am going to watch the venom drain from your body as you die."

Vaisey scoffed. "Oh, Gisborne, please. Don't disgrace me. Kill me quickly, my boy."

Vaisey's taunting speech unleashed maddening rage in Guy, and for an instant what the sheriff saw on the face of his former man made him shrink in fear.

Guy lifted his sword over Vaisey's head. But before he could strike a final blow, Vaisey stabbed him in his thigh with the dagger and then punched him in the face.

"Humanity is a weakness, Gisborne. It has always been your weakness. I tried to teach you, but I failed." His words rung in the crisp air like the toll of a bell.

Guy tumbled to the floor, and his sword slipped from his hands and his head swam with dizziness. Pain slashed through his leg, the dagger still driven in his flesh. He didn't see the sheriff pick up his sword and advance at him.

"This is your end, my boy," Vaisey hissed as he prepared to make a final blow.

Sensing the danger, Guy grabbed the sheriff's sword arm and punched him in the stomach, but Vaisey still managed to kick him in the groin. They struggled on the floor, kicking and punching one another, crawling towards the battlement, gasping with fury and cursing each other.

"You are at fault that King Henry never believed I am his son! You poisoned the old king’s mind against my mother! You poison everything!" Guy screamed violently, sheer rage and black hatred pounding inside of him, his heart beating so frantically he thought it would explode in his chest.

§§§

Guy kicked the sheriff in the belly and then pinned his shoulders to the wall. Looking into Guy's eyes, the sheriff laughed – a malevolent, diabolical sound that was cripplingly painful for the perception of any God-loving man, for Vaisey looked so much like the devil that came on earth to kill, to steal, and to destroy. Vaisey smashed his fists into Guy's face,  laughing hard. Roaring in pain, Gisborne scrambled backwards and dropped his sword. The sheriff took the sword and strode forward.

A lethal smile twisted Vaisey's mouth. "All this little quarrel because of a woman, even a mother?"

"She was my mother!" Guy shouted.

"Lepers, Gisborne, lepers," Vaisey nearly sang. "I had enjoyed your company until your leper Marian made you so weak and changed you, damn her."

"Marian is not a leper!"

"Your mother, Marian, all women are lepers."

"You deserve to burn in hell." Black rage churned in his chest as Guy glared at him with loathing.

"Ghislaine was gorgeous! Her steel blue eyes and her long raven hair were her most appealing features," Vaisey said with a touch of wistfulness.

"Don't say my mother's name!"

The sheriff glanced into Guy's eyes. "I always do what I want. You will never order me anything."

Vaisey had a sword in his arm and could attack, but instead he stood looking at Guy. Guy understood that the sheriff wanted to have a moment of candidness before one of them killed the other.

Gisborne held Vaisey's gaze. "Why did you disgrace my mother?"

The sheriff regarded Guy with a loathsome smirk. "She didn't want me, but I wanted her. She broke my heart and had to pay for her betrayal. She brought opprobrium on herself!"

"If you hadn't spread those rumors, King Henry might have acknowledged me as his son."

For a brief moment, Vaisey looked desperate. "She got what she deserved – disgrace and shame."

"My mother didn't want you!"

The sheriff sighed. "But I wanted her," he said quietly. "I was ready to conquer the world for her, but she laughed into my face and rejected me. She preferred to become the king's whore instead of my wife."

"You didn't deserve her," Guy growled.

A tense silence stretched between Guy and Vaisey. They stared at each other as if bewitched.

"Ghislaine was the only woman whom I loved." Vaisey's face twisted in hatred. "She was beautiful and charming, and I quickly fell for her. She had many suitors, and they all were at her feet." He gave Guy a murderous glare. "I proposed to her, but she didn’t accept."

"You might have tried to court her and then propose to her again."

"She would have never agreed to marry me," Vaisey said with resigned exasperation.

"Why did she reject you?" Guy asked out of mere curiosity.

There was the raw pain in Vaisey's eyes. "Ghislaine was born in the old Norman family, powerful and rich. She was proud of her family connections. Every man wanted her, and the King of England courted her before the eyes of Queen Eleanor and her court." He clenched and unclenched his fists. "But I wasn't born in an old noble Saxon or Norman family!" He paused for an instant, remembering the past. "She told me that she would easily find a far better match than a son of a landless knight."

"I am really sorry that she acted so cruelly." Guy exhaled on an exasperated grunt of comprehension. In spite of his deeply-rooted hatred, he suddenly felt pity for the sheriff. He had never thought that his kind and gentle mother could have been so haughty, so heartless, so tactless, and so inconsiderate.

"I was nothing to her! She didn't care about me! She broke my heart!"

Guy was astonished. It was the first time in his life when he saw the sheriff desperate and depressed. Then the sheriff insulted Ghislaine, calling her a wanton leper and a bitch. As he pronounced these words, blood drained from Guy's face as rage coursed through him.

"You didn't love her if you wronged her so much! You wanted her as your possession, but she didn't want to be yours!" Guy screamed with an undertone of heightened hatred.

Vaisey's eyes revealed quiet despair. "You are wrong, my boy. I loved Ghislaine with all my heart. That's why I wanted you so much at my side," he professed, his face evolving into a sheer tragedy. "I loved her. I was under her love spell. I dreamt of her every night." His voice was shaking with emotions. "My heart was beating faster when I looked at her."

"Then I am really sorry," Guy said sincerely.

Vaisey shrugged, pretending that Guy's apology didn't touch him. Yet, he was somehow pleased, but not satisfied. Only Guy's blood could wash away the pain Guy's betrayal had caused him.

The sheriff stared at him with wild eyes. "You are sorry?" He clenched his fists. "Nothing may ever excuse your mother! She was my last chance for happiness. She was precious to me." He gave a roar of rage. "But she broke my heart. Her rejection almost killed me."

A deep frown marred Guy's forehead. "Why was my mother your last chance?"

Vaisey's face flashed with a wealth of emotions – anger, hatred, despair, pain, and even hope. "My father, Sir Roderick Vaisey, hated me with all his heart," he supplied. "Father loved my elder sister, my Davina, but he could never love me."

"You were his son, his flesh and blood! Why did he hate you?" Guy was confused. "Roger of Gisborne loved me as his own son, although he knew very well that I wasn't his."

Vaisey looked into Guy's eyes. "My father hated me for causing the death of my mother, Lady Alissende Vaisey." His voice was low, detached, and cold. "I killed my mother in childbirth. Father loved my mother, and he had never recovered from her death; he always blamed me for her death." His voice took a lower octave. "Father always told me that I was a murderer because my mother died when I drew my first breath."

"Your father was a cruel man, my lord."

"I hated my father. I hated myself. I hated that other children were loved by their fathers. I hated the whole world," Vaisey continued in the chilly voice. Then he chuckled darkly. "Only my dear Davina and my beautiful birds loved me."

Gisborne nodded brusquely. "You had the reason to hate your father."

The sheriff looked at Guy, his face torn between anguish and hatred. "I thought that Ghislaine would love me for who I was. I wanted her to love me just because I was a man who loved her, but she said that I was nothing. She was so cruel, so cruel to me. This bitch even laughed into my face when she rejected me."

Guy took a step back and gasped at the blaze of hatred in his eyes. "Milord, you blame my mother for everything. You hate her more than you hated even your father."

"I blame only Ghislaine. She is at fault," Vaisey spat out of the depths of his anguish. "I should have killed her. I should have ended her miserable life when she rejected me."

"What? My God!" Guy cried out, shocked. "You are out of your mind!"

"No, I am not mad, my boy. I am just practical and ruthless. I know what I want."

"Do you hate me, Vaisey?" Guy was genuinely interested. "I am my mother's son. But you kept me so close for so long."

"I have never hated you, Gisborne, until you betrayed me," the sheriff confessed.

"You wanted me to work for you because you had once loved my mother?"

The sheriff scoffed. "Yes, I wanted a piece of Ghislaine near me. You could have been my son."

"You knew that King Henry was my father." It sounded more like a statement than a question.

"Yes, I did." Vaisey's eyes pierced Guy's. "I wanted you to be like me, like my son. You reminded me of Ghislaine. You also have Ghislaine's eyes and her raven hair, my boy." He smiled faintly, without familiar sarcasm, but in a moment his face changed into hatred. "You have your father's hellish Angevin temper. You also inherited your hardheaded practicality from the Plantagenets."

Anger stirred in Guy's heart. "You told me nothing about my true parentage," he said, his voice gritty with anger.

The sheriff smiled. "Yes, I knew that you are a royal bastard."

The words whizzed piercingly into Guy's ears. "You sent me on the mission to Acre to kill Richard. I could have killed my own brother!"

"You are pathetic, Gisborne," Vaisey spat. "I could have been your father, not the King of England! But Ghislaine's rejection broke me, my boy."

At first, Guy was touched by Vaisey's story. His heart ached as the sheriff's voice reached his ears. His story reminded him of his own situation not a long time ago: he had seen his redemption in Marian, but he had been deluded. Yet, Vaisey himself had made his choices in life and had stepped into the darkness, and the ultimate responsibility for his sins and crimes lay on him. At those thoughts, Guy's loathing and hatred for the sheriff overmastered his entire being.

"Vaisey, you are at fault," Guy said resolutely. "Even if my mother broke your heart, it wasn't a reason to become so evil and so cruel. You had no right to use me throughout all these years."

The old man began to laugh. "And you let me use you, Guy. You are such a fool."

"And you are a cruel monster," Guy flung back at his former master.

"Gizzy, you are a pathetic parody of a man. You are a stupid weakling," Vaisey said spitefully.

Vaisey gripped his sword and advanced forward; he lunged at his former henchman, preparing to strike a fatal overhead blow. Guy barely dodged from a blow in time.

Guy grabbed the sheriff's arm. "It is good that Robin killed your sister. She is already in hell, and you will meet her there soon."

"Damn you, Gisborne," Vaisey cursed, his eyes glittering in rage. "Don't touch my sister. Hood paid for her death, and you will also pay for your betrayal."

Guy twisted the sheriff's arm and forced him to take a step backwards. He slammed the sheriff's hand into a merlon, and the sword slipped from Vaisey's hand.

With hatred glowing in his fierce eyes, Guy wrapped his arms around the sheriff's throat. "You have no idea how much I hate you. I hated you for so long. I should have killed you years ago." He removed a dagger from his leg and brought it to the sheriff's neck.

Vaisey gasped for air. "Gizzy, don't be so impatient to say goodbye to me!" He caught Guy's arm and punched him in the chest; the dagger tumbled to the floor. "Prepare to die, my boy."

Gisborne fell into the gap between two merlons. He looked down into the darkness, and dread clenched his stomach into a tight knot; he had always been afraid of altitude, and the prospect of dying at Vaisey's hand on the battlement of the castle was not appealing at all.

At the sight of Vaisey's smiling face leaning over him, Guy felt bile of disgust filling his throat, and he swallowed heavily. For a long moment, the sheriff stood over Guy who was so close to the edge, fearing that he would be pushed down from the tower.

But Vaisey was quiet, his grizzled brows furrowed, his eyes watching Guy with a predatory gaze of a hawk. In a deathly silence and oppressive darkness, they glared at one another – a teacher and a pupil, a father and a son – with fierce eyes. A wealth of emotions – rage, resentment, loathing, hatred, chagrin, and bitterness – swept over them, but hatred was a dominant, strongest feeling.

"You know, I loved you as a son," Vaisey confessed, with a touch of regret. "And I know you did love me, too." His expression changed into resentment and scorn. "But you betrayed me." He plunged the dagger into Guy's thigh, smiling maliciously. "This is for your betrayal."

The sheriff gave a loud cry of rage. Barbaric, almost insane rage pierced his black heart to every part of its blackness, and he grabbed Guy's feet and pulled them over the head. Guy hung above the lethal abyss, only one of his hands gripping the merlon, so close to falling from the tower.

The sheriff chuckled. "And now you will pay for your betrayal, my dear boy!"

Guy's head was spinning, his blood throbbing dizzily through his veins. Impracticable schemes of his own salvation whirled in his brain as he sought a way to escape from the trap of death. Then, driven by pure fury, Guy swiftly pulled the dagger out of his leg and blindly struck out, and luck was with him, for he stabbed the sheriff in the chest just at the moment when his mortal enemy was about to push him away from the wall.

The sheriff groaned in pain. Staring at Guy in shock, he took the dagger out of his chest, leaning on a merlon. "Gizzy," he whispered.

Guy pulled himself up over the wall onto the safe ground, swooning in happiness that he had saved himself and had defeated his enemy. He saw a pool of blood near his feet from his own two wounds; it seemed that Vaisey's blade had sliced into a large vein in his leg.

"Die! Die now!" Guy hissed, the hatred he felt for the sheriff plain on his face.

Vaisey lowered himself on the floor. "Gisborne, you are a fool," he said slowly. "You don't even know how cunning Prince John is. Our quarrel is nothing but sport for him." He scoffed. "It was Isabella's idea to cast the blame for Hood's death on you."

"Isabella wouldn't have done that," Guy replied coldly.

"You don't know your sister, you damned fool! She has been with the Black Knights for long enough!"

"No!" Guy flicked a lock of his long hair from his eyes with a sharp jerk of his head.

"Fool! Blithering oaf! You are nothing more than a lapdog!" Vaisey shouted.

"After your death, I will be my own man."

"We can still make a deal, Gisborne. Peace?"

"Never! You deserve to die!" Guy bellowed in rage. "This is for me and for everyone you poisoned!"

"Gisborne, don't trust both Richard and John, especially John," Vaisey said. His breathing was labored, and blood was pouring out of his wound on the floor. "Do you hear me, my boy, my almost son? Nothing... is what it seems. Nothing." Then he coughed and shut his eyes. His lips were parted slightly, and a narrow trickle of blood ran down the corner of her mouth.

The smell of blood in his flaring nostrils, a frightening glitter in his eyes, and the blood-stained dagger clasped in his hands, Guy stared at the sheriff, hardly able to believe that he had killed his mortal foe. Standing beside the corpse, he absently wiped the blade on his trousers.

Suddenly aware of the necessity to leave before the guards appeared there, he started walking towards the door but stopped as his gaze fell on Marian. "Marian," he murmured.

"You killed him," Marian said in disbelief, her eyes taking in Vaisey's motionless form on the floor.

Guy swallowed painfully. "Let's go. We must leave."

The sound of approaching footsteps came from the stairs, and they froze, fear and horror running through their veins. They gasped for air as they saw Prince John, Isabella, and Kate of Locksley standing at the doorway; the prince's guards stood behind.

Prince John looked smug and happy, like a great Roman general who had just completed his triumph on the Field of Mars, celebrating extraordinary victory over his enemies. Isabella's face was cold and arrogant, but she was reserved, keeping her emotions tightly reined. The satisfied smirk spread across the young and pretty features of Kate of Locksley.

John began applauding. "Bravo, Sir Guy. I thought that you had no guts to kill your master." His gaze shifted to Isabella. "I believe Gisborne deserves to be punished for his crimes, right?"

Isabella smiled gladsomely. "He is a dangerous criminal, sire. He must be executed for what he did to the King of England, you, and many other innocent and honest people."

"Traitors," Marian spat, her eyes darting daggers at both Isabella and Kate.

"Good job, Kate," John praised.

Kate's cheeks flushed. "I knew that you would be pleased, sire."

Marian stepped forward, her eyes darting between Prince John and Isabella. Her chin lifted pugnaciously. "Sire, you know that Guy didn't murder Robin. You lied today. You–"

"Silence!" the prince bawled out, his fingers caressing his new golden ring he had ordered to produce an authentic copy of King Henry's old ring which Richard was wearing. "You are nobody, and you cannot talk to me in such a rude manner! I am the prince of England, the future King of England, while you are only _the traitor's whore_!"

"She is my wife!" Guy cried out in indignation.

"Lady Marian, _you are not his wife_ ," the prince continued with a cold smirk. " _You are Robin Hood's sweetheart and Guy of Gisborne's… lover, but nobody's wife_!"

Guy was sure that he would have stabbed the prince if he had a sword in his hands at the moment. "How dare you say such things, you lecherous idiot with ambitions for the crown you are not worthy of!"

"How dare you? How dare you insult your monarch?" Prince John was very angry.

"You are not a monarch – you are a pretender!" Guy fired.

A perceptible agitation wavered through the men of the elite guard at Guy's disrespectful speech; though they kept their swords at the ready, several of them shot Guy scornful glances.

His face twisted in a painful grimace, his brows furrowed furiously, and his eyes blazing with rage, John ordered the guards to surround Guy. Marian opened her mouth to protest, but the guards held her hands tightly, and she uttered no word, her lips producing gasping sounds. The blue eyes cold and furious, in two strides the prince was beside Guy. A ringing slap was the next sound, and Guy whimpered in pain, brushing his hand across his cheek. Gisborne tried to say something else, but a new slap silenced him.

"I never forgive betrayal, Gisborne," Prince John hissed, looking from Guy to Marian. "As for you, Lady Marian of Knighton, I am most honored to inform you that you are not Lady Gisborne. You are not Gisborne's wife, and it is good for you because he is a traitor and will die a traitor's death."

"I am his wife," Marian protested.

"No, you are not, and now I will debunk your illusions," the prince stated, smiling triumphantly. "When your father, Sir Edward of Knighton, was in the dungeons, he agreed to sign a betrothal agreement with Sir Walter Giffard, the Earl of Buckingham. He was promised that you both would be freed after the wedding to Lord Buckingham." He let out a rich chuckle. "It happened after Vaisey had led the Earl of Winchester to believe that he would have you," he added to avoid further questions.

"Lady Marian's marriage to Gisborne is null and void on the grounds of pre-contract," Isabella inferred.

Marian was shocked to the core. "My father would have never done that."

"No," Guy said.

"It is true, Lady Marian! Your father was an old, weak man. He wanted only the best for you," the prince taunted. "Lord Buckingham will be a good husband. He will tame you, my dear."

The Earl of Buckingham entered the tower room, and the prince's guards parted to give him way, bowing in respect. Marian trembled all over as she immediately recognized Buckingham: she had seen him before in the castle when the Black Knights had been assembled to sign the Pact of Nottingham, and he had openly tried to woo her, competing with Winchester. The Earl's deeply set, gray eyes bore into Marian's face, and he smiled with a jubilant smile, the sneering lust on his face.

"Good evening," Buckingham began, bowing to the prince; he was holding the rolled parchment in his hand. "Lady Marian, I will show you our betrothal agreement."

With trembling hands, Marian took the parchment from Buckingham's hands, and her face conveyed quiet loathing as their eyes met for a split second. Buckingham only smirked at her.

Marian unrolled the parchment and stared at her father's familiar handwriting. It was a legal contract in which her father had agreed to give her hand in a marriage to the Earl of Buckingham; the Knighton Hall and her father's lands were to be transferred to her husband's name after their wedding.

Marian shook her head in disbelief, numbness overcoming her. She looked at Guy with such despair in her eyes that he instinctively tried to wrench out of the grip of his captors, but they held him tightly. Observing the wreckage of Marian and Guy's marriage, Kate sniggered, and Marian frowned at her, not hiding her growing antipathy towards the potter girl.

A fearless Marian declared, "I will never marry you, Lord Buckingham." The pounding of her heartbeat, loud in her head, seemed to drown out all other sounds. She took a calming breath, but it didn't help.

Buckingham laughed waspishly. "We are betrothed, my lady, and I will marry you. Your own father gave me the rights to claim you as my wife."

"I swear that she will never be your wife, Buckingham. I will kill you." Guy fixed a glare of ice on the Earl of Buckingham, nodding with dark promise.

"You are in no position to threaten me, Gisborne," Buckingham retorted with an ironic smile.

Prince John approached Marian and circled her. He made an impatient sound. "Lady Marian is a shrill little thing. And she is beautiful, from the well-shaped, intelligent head to the long, delicate legs." He arched his neck, almost preening before her. "I have to acknowledge, albeit reluctantly, that Robin Hood _had_ and Guy of Gisborne _has_ an exquisite taste for women."

Marian stared at John furiously, her jaw tightened. "I will never marry the Earl of Buckingham."

"Oh, my Lady Marian! You are spirited and willful and beautiful! You are a rare creature! You must be a tigress in a bed!" John's eyes glittered with mockery; the desire he felt was obvious in his look, and a lewd note came into his voice as he went on. "I am sure that your future husband is intending to make you, his future wife, submit to his will! He will even command you to love me if I want that!"

Buckingham grinned. "How delightful! Lady Marian will be mine!" He laughed briefly, a harsh, vinegary sound. I will definitely make my wife mine in all aspects, milord. A wife must be an obedient woman and a good breeder, and I will make sure she will give me many sons to carry on my name."

Prince John broke into an uproarious laughter, and Isabella laughed as well, though she had been displeased by the lustful glances which the prince's cast at Marian and by his broad hints. Guy threw another insult at John, and one of the guards slapped him hard across his cheek.

Marian gasped for breath, her voice hardly coming out at all, but she was glad of the rage that was coursing through her veins, for she could hide her fear behind a facade of angry disdain. "You all made a mistake," she addressed the prince and the earl. "I am not like some other women: I don't have unparalleled talents in pleasing men." She glanced askance at Isabella.

"The strongest survives, Lady Marian," Isabella parried unflinchingly.

"Guards!" Prince John called, snapping his fingers. "Escort our dear Lady Marian to one of the guest chambers. She must be under a heavy guard until you get my further instructions. Later she will come to London with me and Lord Buckingham; she will stay there until her wedding."

"Surely, court in London is better than here, in Nottingham?" the Earl of Buckingham mocked.

"Lady Marian will like my court," the prince said with a lecherous smile.

"Every court shines when you are there, milord," Isabella murmured with a flattering smile. After a moment she said, "Pity my brother is not going to accompany the lady."

"Guy of Gisborne is going to be a special guest in the dungeons!" A wry grin manifested on the prince's features. He nodded at the guards. "Throw Gisborne into the coldest and dampest cell. Don't give him food for several days, but ask our physician to stitch his wounds; I need him alive for some time."

"No! You cannot do that to Guy!" Marian brushed the tears from her cheeks. "You cannot do that to him because King Richard pardoned him!"

"I can do whatever pleases me, Lady Marian. I am of royal blood, and I am your lord and sovereign!" John returned wrathfully. His face darkened. "Again pitiful Richard… I am fed up with this name!"

Isabella came closer to her royal lover. "You have a bright and happy future ahead, my king." Smiling at him, she ran her hand up his neck to gently grasp a thick handful of his hair, her voice now low and a little husky. "We have already talked about that. You shouldn't worry about your brother."

The prince's face changed into joyfulness. "The throne will be mine at last," he said. "Truly mine forever, as my father wished."

"Forever," Isabella echoed. He sounded so much like a spoiled child that she chuckled at him.

"You are a dead man walking, brother." Isabella watched Guy being shackled, luxuriating in the moment of her brother's defeat.

Guy sneered. "What a good sister you are, Isabella!"

"He is yours now, Isabella!" Prince John said gleefully. "Take them away!"

Guy snapped his head toward his sister, scowling at her with dark fury. Her head high, Marian looked at the prince, his mistress, and the Black Knight. Then the guards led them away.

"You are a good and loyal girl," the prince told Kate, smiling at her affectionately.

Kate looked surprised. "Sire, what about my reward?"

The prince's face showed puzzlement. "What?"

"I helped you find Guy of Gisborne! You owe me the reward – three hundred pounds!" Kate demanded.

"And you owe me obedience and submission as your king," John shot back.

"You promised in front of the people to give the bounty on Gisborne's head!" Kate challenged.

John smiled tightly. "You see, Kate, there are certain… problems," he began. "My brother's Crusade depleted the treasury, so I cannot pay you." He made a helpless gesture. "And it is your civil duty to report to your authorities everything you know about dangerous criminals like Gisborne."

Kate shot him a hostile stare; all the helpless anger and resentment she felt was written across her face. "You are going back on your word!"

The prince gave a laugh. "By Heaven, that's amusing!" He smirked at the servant girl. "You are a pretty wench, but very ill-mannered and low born. You are dismissed."

Kate's face contorted with anger. "Goodnight," she said between clenched teeth. She dropped into an awkward curtsey and hurried to leave.

Prince John stared after Kate as she walked to the door, at the tempting curves plainly revealed by the tight, old-fashioned gown, sensual anticipation curling in his belly. He imagined Kate naked and desire surged through his loins. Kate wasn't exactly what he liked in women, but he didn't mind spending a night or two with her, for he loved a variety of women in his bed.

"The perfect end to the perfect day?" Prince John raised a brow, expecting to be praised.

Buckingham lowered his head in a bow. "My king, I cannot wish anything else! Your kingship will bring prosperity and happiness not only to our country but also to the lives of all your loyal subjects!"

John smiled. "You love me, Buckingham! You love me!"

"I love you most of all in my life," Buckingham flattered.

John licked his lips, grinning. "I appreciate your sincere affection for me."

Prince John took Isabella's arm in his and led her to the exit, casting a brief glance at Vaisey's body on the floor, his lips barely quivering at the edges, his eyes alight with mischief and excitement. Isabella didn't see Buckingham smile wryly at the guard whom he offered a fine leather pouch, into which the man dipped his fingers and laughed. Then the earl hurried to join the prince at the feast.

In the great hall, Isabella stood proudly at the prince's right hand, her face glowing brightly as her mind replayed the images of Guy's desperate face and the sheriff's bloodied corpse. She won the game – Guy was arrested and Vaisey was dead, the two men whom she hated with all her being were no longer a threat to her. The loud voices and laughter pulled her out of her thoughts, and her mind concentrated on the formidable weapon she needed so much to triumph over men – power.

Isabella turned her gaze at her lover. "What about our deal, milord?"

John winked at her. "I always remember my promises."

Prince John clapped his hands to attract the attention of the guests. "It is with great sadness that I must announce the death of Lord Peter Vaisey, the Sheriff of Nottingham. He has been murdered by the villainous Guy of Gisborne. Gisborne has been arrested and now is locked in the dungeons."

The declaration drew a gasp of horror from the nobles. A low murmur went through the chamber.

John smiled. "I appoint Lady Isabella of Gisborne the new Sheriff of Nottingham."

Isabella raised a goblet of wine to her lips. "Long live King John!"

Everyone stood up, their goblets in their hands, but their faces strangely tense and impassive.

Prince John laughed. "Long live me!"

Isabella flashed a coquettish smile. "My lord, my master of the word," she whispered.

John stared at Isabella as if entranced. He saw her lashes flutter closed and then open again; his breath suspended as she turned her face up ever so slightly to his. "You are so beautiful," he murmured.

"Thank you," Isabella said modestly.

"I will come to your chambers tonight," John pledged.

Her face stretched into a thin smile. "As you wish, sire."

§§§

The sun was high in the azure, cloudless sky when Robin awoke. He had had restless dreams, and now the remnants of dreadful visions of the blood-soaked battlefield were still clinging to his mind, like wisps of spiderwebs. His heart still surged with fear, and he shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of what was on his mind. Coherent thoughts raced through his head, and he suddenly realized that he could breathe, see, and think. _He didn't die in Imuiz! He was really alive!_

During the past weeks, Robin was in a state of trance induced by opiates, but now he finally emerged from the oblivion, though a small part of him regretted that reality claimed him back. He heard that the Roman legionary surgeons and physicians had used opiates for hundreds of years, but he had never experienced their effect on himself until he had been stabbed in Imuiz. Under their influence, he had completely lost awareness, but he was grateful that the herbs had protected him from pain.

Robin moved and felt a stab of pain in his stomach again, but, this time, it was less sharp than at the time of his first awakening. He pulled off his silk bedcovers and lifted his tunic, wishing to examine his own body. He ran his palms across his naked skin of his thighs and his abdomen. His wound was still bandaged, and he wondered whether he would have an ugly scar when it healed properly. His fingers traced his old scar on his left side, but the touch almost burnt him and his arms went to his sides.

With a groan, Robin pulled himself into a sitting position. He swept the gaze curtains open and climbed out of the bed. On his feet, he felt slightly lightheaded. He wavered on his feet for a moment, unconsciously clutching his wound as nagging pain slashed through his stomach.

He surveyed his surroundings, and a wide grin splashed across his face. He felt like a guest in an exquisite pleasure palace, like Aladdin from _'One thousand and one Arabian nights'_.

The bedchamber was fantastic. Shimmering colorful textiles with a rich diversity of textures and patterns – mainly blue, emerald green, turquoise, black, and white – hung the walls and the ceiling. Graceful columns of white marble supported the vault of the ceiling. There were Arabian style murals and engraved Arabic inscriptions on one of the walls. The floor was made of blue-and-white-glazed tile and solid gold. The crafted Arabian hanging lamps and pendant lighting lanterns on the walls looked very original, and Robin could imagine the effect of the merrily leaping red flames in darkness.

The huge bed, with blue gaze curtains and drapes of the same color, stood near the wall overlooking the balcony. Egg-shaped metal punchwork lanterns stood on the bedside tables. To the left from the bed, there was a large alcove and steps leading to a small pool. To the right from the bed, a soft Persian carpet lay on the floor, and tasseled silk pillows were strewn upon it. Wood furniture – low-profile seating, chests, small polygonal end tables, panels, Koran boxes and stands – were embellished with intricately carved abstract and geometric designs; some pieces were guided.

The bedchamber had three arched windows and a large balcony with double doors. Even standing far from the balcony, Robin could see the outlines of Jerusalem's towers and could hear noises coming from the city streets. The sweet smell of verbena and Arabian oils rose up all around him and the tinkling sound of fountains spewing forth their waters in playful jets and marble waterfalls sang in his ears. Doves flew past the balcony, and exotic birds were singing in the trees of the garden below.

Robin took a measured step forward. He felt dizzy, legs were slightly shaking, and he walked very, very slowly towards the balcony. He stopped near the window and looked outside, his eyes taking in the mystic, almost fairy-tale views of the holy city – the Temple Mount. The soft morning light colored elaborate temples and elegantly constructed palaces white, yellow, coral, and seashell pink.

Robin had never been in Jerusalem before, and, with great delight, he thought that the holy city was a beautiful temple-filled metropolis that was grander than everything he had seen before. The city was bustling with activity as merchants loaded up whatever they could grab and pilgrims crowded on the square creating long queues to the churches. Pilgrims carried all their possessions with them instead of leaving them in safe-keeping, making the environment messier.

"So you have awoken," Djaq said in a high voice. She had already been standing near the door for some time, observing Robin.

Robin swung around and looked at her. "Djaq!"

A fresh twinge of nervousness went through her. "Are you feeling well to stand and walk? Are you in pain? Do you need something?" She hurried to him, her face kind and concerned.

He chuckled. "Oh, so many questions all at once."

Wrapping one of her arms around his back, Djaq cautiously pushed him forward. "Robin, you have just awoken from deep slumber. You are still weak and need rest."

Robin obeyed her and walked to the bed. "I am feeling quite well. The pain is less severe than before."

She pushed open the curtains and helped him lie down on the bed. "Is your head clear?"

He reclined back into the cushions. "I can think… for the first time in many days."

She landed on the edge of the bed. "Good."

"In the past weeks, I lived in the unreal world."

"Quite the opposite, Robin. Everything was real – your wound, pain, and fever," Djaq told him. "When the pain was too much to bear, we gave you herbs – opiates – to spare you agony." She lowered her voice. "We feared that you would not survive." She felt her arms trembling as she envisioned Robin shaking in convulsions and moaning in pain.

Robin gave her an incredulous look. "Was I really so bad?"

Djaq's face darkened as memories about the tragic death in Imuiz entered her mind. "You died in Imuiz, but then you came back from the dead; now you are not dead."

A muscle jumped along his jaw. "But how is that possible?"

"It is difficult to explain, but at times, very rarely, it happens," Djaq continued. "Your body went through a deep shock after you pulled your scimitar out of your stomach. We thought you died… but it was only a temporary shutdown of your body." She cast a guilty glance at Robin. "It is my fault… I should have checked on you again, but then a sandstorm came, and we had to return to Acre. And then you disappeared."

Robin shook his head. "It is not your fault. Don't blame yourself."

"But I have to. If I understood you were alive, I would have spared many people much pain. Now you would have been in Acre–"

Robin cut her off, taking her small hand in his and entwining their fingers. "Djaq, you saved my life, and I thank you for that from the bottom of my heart." His eyes shone with gratitude.

"Don't thank me." A large smile blossomed on her dark face. "You saved my life as well."

"We saved each other."

She smiled cordially. "Exactly, Robin Hood."

Robin gazed away, his mind struggling to process Djaq’s tale about his survival. Djaq left the chamber and returned in a few moments, carrying an alabaster cup in her hand. She brought the cup to Robin's mouth; Robin's lips were trembling as he drank the thick liquid.

"What is it? Again opiates?"

"No, Robin. We won't give you opiates anymore. It is just a tonic."

"Why no more opiates?"

"You might become addicted to them."

Robin brushed back a strand of his sandy hair from his forehead. "And what if pain returns?"

"It won't be as strong as it was before. You just have to be patient until your wound heals."

"Where is the king? Did he leave the Holy Land?" Robin felt his heart thudding anxiously.

Already expected to see a more agitated Robin, Djaq reported, "King Richard sailed from Acre in three weeks after regicide. The king hoped that they would find you before his departure, but they failed, although they were digging sand in Imuiz and in the surrounding areas."

"What about my wife?"

"Your friend, the Earl of Leicester, accompanied your wife to Aquitaine."

Robin was relieved. "Good. I trust Leicester."

"Where are Much, John, Allan, and the others?"

"Everyone is gone, Robin."

"Marian and… Gisborne?"

"The king pardoned Gisborne. Marian and Gisborne sailed from Acre in the company of Much, John, and Allan a week before the king's departure," Djaq responded. "There are many Crusaders in Acre, and Count Henry de Champagne is in command of them, except for the Knights Templar."

Robin thought back to the events on the day of regicide. "Edmund is… dead. Roger de Lacy was fine, but I didn't see Carter in the courtyard. Was someone else wounded in Imuiz?"

"Carter was almost fatally injured by the sheriff," Djaq reported. "Of course, he was not as bad as you were, but he was more likely to die than to survive. He is currently in Acre and sends you his greetings and warm wishes. Count de Champagne's physician and Friar Tuck are taking care of him."

Robin's eyes darkened in rage. "Vaisey caused too much harm. I swear that he will pay."

"Calm down. You may be in pain if you strain or overexcite yourself," Djaq forewarned. "Think about good things. An hour of vengeance will come later. You know that your wife was with child?"

"It means that she learned about her condition after my death. Otherwise, she would have told me great news," Robin mused, a sensual smile curving his mouth.

"And?"

"That's great!" Robin declared passionately. "So wonderful! Absolutely amazing!"

"That's really good news. Congratulations, Robin."

Robin was happy to learn that he would be a father soon. He had always been very careful not to get his lovers with child, but Melisende was his wife and no caution was necessary. He also thought of Marian and Gisborne, wondering whether they would ever have children; he was again jealous. For a while, they talked about Melisende and her health, as well as Richard's health. Djaq caught his eye, and he had that familiar unnerving feeling she read his thoughts.

Djaq eyed him suspiciously. "If you are thinking of Marian and Gisborne, then let me tell you that they don't have children, and perhaps they will never have them."

Robin blinked. "Why?"

"Marian had a grievous wound when she nearly died in the cave."

"You think she cannot conceive?" He was frustrated more than he wanted himself to be.

"I don't know but it is possible."

"It is sad," he said, a shade of heavy regret in his voice.

"I don't know for sure. I told Marian about that."

Robin glanced away, not knowing what to think about the revelation. He shifted on the bed and groaned painfully, biting his lower lip. "How much time has passed since regicide?"

"Almost four months since you were stabbed."

He raised his head and their eyes locked. "Four months! So much time!"

"It will be four months in a week," Djaq clarified.

"Then it is already November," Robin articulated.

"Yes."

"Oh!" Robin sighed. "I spent my birthday in fever."

She favored him with her sweetest smile. "Yes, Robin. But it could have been much, much worse."

"It is so strange." Robin smiled, but then his face quickly turned serious. He was twenty-seven now and he was alive, though he could have easily been dead at twenty-six.

"I understand. It is not easy," Djaq said kindly. "You had many adventures after your disappearance from Imuiz. When you were delivered to Jerusalem, you were more dead than alive. You had a high fever, and infection was slowly killing you. We hoped that your fever would pass, but it didn't happen, for the wound was… infected and your flesh was rotting in the wound area, and we had to make an urgent surgery to save your life."

Robin shuddered. "To cut the wound open?"

"Yes." She gave a nod. "Actually, twice."

He gasped in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yes, Robin. You will have quite an ugly scar when the wound heals."

"I don't care. I can live with one more scar."

"Robin, we haven't informed King Richard about your survival. Should we do this now?"

"No, don't send a message," Robin said firmly.

"Your wife was in grief. King Richard was in deep mourning for you," Djaq pointed out. "Marian was beyond herself with grief. Even Gisborne seemed to be shocked and grieved too."

Robin cleared his throat nervously. "They can wait for several months before they see me again."

"What do you mean?" Djaq stared at him with apparent confusion.

Robin arched a brow. "So nobody in England knows that I am alive?"

"Nobody," she echoed.

"Then they shouldn't know," he said categorically. "I don't want to sound cruel, but the king, my wife, and others have already accepted my death. They can wait."

"Why, Robin?"

"For many reasons." Robin paused, collecting her thoughts. "King Richard is on his way home. We don't know which route he took and where he headed; he could have gone to Aquitaine and only then to England. The Black Knights can intercept the message, and I don't want them to know that I survived."

"I think I understand. You want to become the invisible enemy of the Black Knights?"

"There are men who like to underrate women's intelligence, but I am not among them," Robin said in a voice that quivered with laughter. "Intelligence is definitely one of your very many good qualities."

Djaq laughed, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Oh, Robin. You are certainly feeling better."

"Much better," he confirmed. "When can I travel to England?"

She looked thoroughly alarmed. "Uh, Robin! Again your stubbornness and restlessness!" She frowned. "You cannot travel even to Acre in the next month at least. Don't even think about this."

"Really?" Robin sounded only half-certain. "But I must!"

"No! No! No!" Djaq repeated several times. "You are not strong. I don't want you to die on the ship. You will leave Jerusalem only over my dead body."

"I must go back!" Robin protested earnestly.

"Robin, you are not fit to travel and it is not a matter for discussion. I won't let you kill yourself." Djaq glanced sternly at him. "None of your pleas will help you."

"Fine," Robin conceded, frustrated.

During the next week, Robin stayed bedridden against his will because the only thing he wanted was to travel to Acre and then sail from the Holy Land. Djaq gave Robin some special concoctions that either simply calmed him or made him fall asleep. Robin was restless and increasingly; he slept badly, his nights haunted by dreams about blood and death, each of them laced with dread. He often asked Djaq when he would be able to travel and always received the same answer – they needed to wait more.

In about two weeks, Robin felt that he was strong enough to make a short walk within the walls of the holy city despite Djaq's protests. In the morning, he wrapped himself into an ankle-length, loose robe made out of the finest blue silk in Arabic fashion; it was adorned with diamonds and sapphires. Not wishing to go outside with an uncovered face, he wore a ghutra on his head. Despite his desire to be accompanied only by Djaq and Will, Prince Malik gave Robin five men who also wore a disguise, having exchanged the form of Saladin's royal guards for expensive clothes in Arabic fashion.

Looking around, Robin was slowly making his way through the narrow streets of Jerusalem, feeling as if he were dreaming that he finally saw the holy city after so many years of brutal fighting for this place. He had already been in Acre and Jaffa, but Jerusalem was very different: houses were generally better built, and streets were cleaner than in Acre and Jaffa. Jerusalem probably was the most amazing city among all the Oriental cities, and Robin was amazed that it was buzzing with greater activity than he had seen in Acre; he was swept over by the cacophony of voices speaking in different languages, mostly in Arabic which he knew very well. He thought that the streets were as narrow as in Acre, and they were very rudely paved, like in all cities in the East.

After many crooked turnings in the maze of streets and lanes, they arrived in the Christian quarter in the northwestern corner of the ancient city; they came there at Robin's request, for he had long wanted to visit this place. They passed through many streets of the quarter which extended from the New Gate in the north, along the old walls of the city and up to the Western Wall route in the south. Despite the fact that it was the Christian quarter, the houses there were mainly built in the typical Arabic fashion, though Robin noticed more western-looking buildings there.

Soon Robin, Djaq, and Will already strolled aimlessly in the area of ancient Jerusalem that was built upon several hills easily distinguishable through the natural surface. In this area, the most interesting objects were the Temple Mount and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre for Christians. Robin was mostly interested in the Temple Mount, for he had always associated the holy city with this place where at least four religious traditions – Judaism, Christianity, Roman religion, and Islam – had been present.

As they finally were in the area of the Temple Mount, Robin felt his heart thundering in his chest as he ran his eyes over three monumental structures – the al-Aqsa Mosque, the holiest place in Judaism where the Temple had stood before being destroyed by the Romans and where Muhammad had led prayers until the seventeenth month after the emigration from Mecca; the Dome of the Rock, the significance of which stemmed from religious traditions regarding the rock and bore great importance for Jews, Christians, and Muslims; and the Dome of the Chain, which had been built by the Ummayads and had become a Christian chapel under the Crusaders.

Soon they found themselves near the spot to which every pilgrim first directed his steps – the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, one of Christianity's holiest sites, in the heart of the Christian quarter. It was the place of crucifixion and tomb of Jesus of Nazareth. Pilgrims could come there from every direction through the many surrounding streets and through the nearby small bazaars filled with ragged Saracen women, vendors of silks, vegetables, and snails. As there were many pilgrims crowded near the entrance to the Holy Sepulchre, Robin, and his friends decided not to go inside.

"I have never thought that I would be in the center of Jerusalem," Robin told Will and Djaq as he swept his eyes over the Temple Mount.

Djaq stared at Robin. "You fought for the possession of the holy city, Robin. And now you are here." She cocked her head to one side. "How do you feel about that now?"

Robin just stared at Djaq for an instant, his jaw clenched under the force of some strong emotion that coursed through him, a great forceful flood that scoured his insides like acid, eating away at him until he glanced away. "It is strange," he answered with a deep sigh. "At the beginning of the Crusade, I thought it was my duty to conquer Jerusalem. I dreamt of walking down the streets of the holy city. Now it seems unreal and incredible that I am here…"

"Robin, I have the same feelings, although I have never fought in the Holy Land," Will said, his gaze embracing the Temple Mount.

Robin stiffened, directing his gaze at his friends. "I also feel uncomfortable… because the Holy Land and Jerusalem belong to the Saracens, the Jews, and the Christians – to everyone. Now I understand this as clearly as never before." His voice was nearly rough with feeling.

Djaq turned her gaze to the group of the pilgrims; they were obviously English. "These people must be grateful to you and your friends for a chance to come here."

Crowds of pilgrims gathered near the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Dome of the Chain. They were mainly Englishmen and those who lived in various parts of the Angevin Empire. The French were not allowed to have a free passage to Jerusalem because of King Richard's conflict with King Philippe.

Robin laughed; his heart was full of joy and pride. "Well, I cannot deny that I am pleased to see the fruits of my labors." He feigned frustration. "It is a pity that these people have no idea who I am."

Will smiled. "Oh, Robin, Robin."

Djaq threw her head back and laughed. "Robin, you are becoming yourself."

Robin's eyes twinkled in mischief. "Yeah, I have a vain nature."

Djaq placed a hand on Robin's shoulder, looking into his eyes. "Robin, I feel most honored to be here with you of all men, for you helped make peace in the Holy Land." She patted Robin's shoulder fondly. "You cannot imagine how grateful I am for everything you did for my countrymen and for me. You stopped the bloodshed, and now we have peace at least for some time."

"I did what I wanted to do," Robin said in a silken tone. "I swore I would do everything to make peace with Saladin when the king recalled me back to Acre."

"Thank you for peace." Djaq smiled, regretting that Robin couldn't see her bright smile beneath her veil. "I should have thanked your friends – the Earl of Leicester, Count de Champagne, and Carter – when we were in Acre, but days after regicide were so difficult that I had no chance to do that."

Robin took her hands in his. "As for your gratitude to me, may I remind you that you saved my life? You owe me nothing."

Djaq squeezed his hand in a gesture of a friendly affection. "And I am so happy that you survived."

"Only thanks to you and Yussuf." Robin experienced an enormous burst of pure emotion at the thought of his death and resurrection.

"I am sorry to interrupt you, but I think we should go," Will intervened. "There are so many pilgrims here that our presence makes this place even more overcrowded."

Robin closed his eyes and tilted his face to the rays of the sun. "I agree."

"Robin, are you feeling worse?" Djaq asked worriedly.

Robin shook his head, smiling. "No, I am fine. Just a little tired."

"I told you, Robin, that it is too early for you to freely walk in the city," Djaq scolded him. "Tomorrow you will stay in your bed even if I have to chain you to a bedpost."

Robin chuckled. "I will do as you wish, the best doctor in the Holy Land."

Will smiled. "He is definitely becoming himself, which means that he is recovering."

"He will feel worse if he strains himself too much," Djaq grumbled.

"Don't worry about me, lads," Robin retorted. "I promise to be an obedient patient." His eyes shone with a dangerous light. "I am very interested in my speedy recovery, for I have much work to do."

Will and Djaq shared uneasy glances. They knew what Robin had meant – he wanted to deal with the Black Knights by himself if at least one of them would be alive by the time of his return to England.

Djaq was very worried about Robin's emotional state, perhaps even more than about his physical condition. "Robin, King Richard will punish traitors by the time we come back home."

Robin shrugged. "We must be prepared for everything. Nobody knows what happened in England in our absence and how things will play out after our return." Despite his knowledge that King Richard already was on the way to England, he felt that the danger to the king and his country was still as strong as his hatred for Vaisey and the Black Knights.

"Will, what do you think?" Djaq hoped that he would broach the subject she didn't dare touch.

Will seized the meaning of her question at once. "Robin, what are you planning to do?"

"I may be obnoxious, and I may be kind, you know. I am the most unusual man in the whole world, after all." Robin was being arrogant as usual, and he also was being whimsical, but in the undertone in his metallic voice – barely concealed hatred and anger – there was a message. "There is something else. I must tell you that I will do what I want and what I consider the best for England, for the king, and for myself."

Djaq sighed deeply; there was a choice here. Perhaps to speak about the implications of changes in his personality in the face of his near-death experience, for what she knew from practice could make Robin's life less of a burden. But Robin wouldn't listen to her now, she was sure of that. "I have no doubt that a man of your experience can take the best course action."

A relaxed Robin sighed. "Well, half-plans and people's hearts were ever my strong suits."

It was Will who didn't get the hint Robin had given. "Robin, your half-plans may one day kill us!" he said so loud that the two Saracen passers-by turned their heads, searching for the source of English voices. "We shouldn't have chased after the sheriff in Imuiz after we saved the king from Saladin's imposter! If we hadn't gone there, the king wouldn't have been wounded and you wouldn't have died either!"

"Will, please..." Djaq was shaking her head, but her beloved didn't comprehend that the situation was fraught with danger of causing Robin's not-so-tight control slip.

"Robin, you always command us to go here and there," Will snapped. "You never even ask what we think; you are a commander and everyone must blindly obey you."

Robin was barely holding onto his temper. "Something else, Will?"

"Your half plans are not always perfect," Will continued, gazing into Robin's eyes. "I don't have your experience of a soldier, but I understood that we should have returned to the camp instead of going to Imuiz. You were not thinking straight when you ordered to pursue the sheriff, wishing to capture him and Gisborne, or perhaps Gisborne even more." He raised his voice. "We followed you – we will always follow you, but I don't want Djaq, you, or anyone else to be killed because of your hasty decisions."

Will did need to share with Robin his fears. When they had lived in the woods, he had naively believed in their victory over the sheriff without losses among them and had never thought of death. After the events in Imuiz, he was able to see with a breathtaking clarity that if Robin could die, then anyone else could be killed too. Out of all of them, he was more worried about Djaq, for he loved her too much to lose her in their fight, all the more for the king who wasn't worthy of their loyalty.

Djaq was staring at her feet as if something about her silk slippers displeased her. There would be no result from the confrontation now, at least while Robin was still so emotionally fragile and unbalanced. In the days since his awakening, his mood swings were terrible as he could be the calmest man one hour and then turn into that angry terror the next as he gushed about the Black Knights and traitors who deserved death and only death. Yet, there always was a layer of hidden vulnerability about Robin that revealed itself in his confusion and fear only some people – she and Malik – could see in his eyes.

Robin said nothing for a moment and then very deliberately turned his gaze at one of the nearby buildings. Thoughts chased themselves through his head as he thought back to the days of their adventures in Sherwood. It was true that Robin had never delegated authority of a leader to anyone in the gang, even to Much who was an accomplished warrior after his service in the Holy Land. He had never thought that the outlaws had objected, but apparently he had been mistaken. But the remembrance about his mistakes – he knew that he shouldn't have pursued the sheriff then without an army of the king's guards –was a much more painful blow than Will's accusations of being a selfish leader.

Robin swung his gaze to Will; his face was closed tight with anger. "It seems, Will, that you have accumulated much bitterness towards me," he said in a chilly voice. "I am sorry if I was a selfish leader who disappointed you. For the lack of understanding that I was so blind, I must ask you to grant me your forgiveness." He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts; his voice was low and deep as he went on. "But I won't ask your forgiveness for going to Imuiz because nothing happened to you there."

Will swallowed hard as he heard Robin's frigid tone. His heart sank; perhaps he shouldn't have told his leader and friend all these things. "Robin, I didn't mean to–"

"Enough," Robin interrupted him. "Let's return to the palace." Then he turned his back to his friends and walked away. The guards trailed behind him.

"It is not a good time for such conversations, for Robin is not ready for them," Djaq opined, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Robin's anger masked his pain. He knows all his mistakes, but he never speaks about them. I fear that the effect of death on him is deeper than I thought."

There were guilt and shame in Will's eyes. "I was a fool. I should have been silent." He took a step to her. "But I was so worried about you! The sheriff could stab you instead of Robin."

Djaq flashed a vibrant smile. "I know, Will." She sighed. "We need to go."

He nodded. "Yes."

Robin was not far from them; as he noticed Will and Djaq, he went ahead, and letting them follow him. On the way back to Saladin's palace, Robin engaged Will and Djaq into a lively conversation, as if nothing had happened: his mood swings were severe, and his friends only looked at him with suspicion. Truth be told, Robin's mood was lighthearted only on the surface, and beneath lay serious and vengeful thoughts as sophisticated plans of revenge against Sheriff Vaisey and the Black Knights began to form in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you liked the introduction of Meg into the storyline. In this story/novel, she has a very interesting background: she is not a country girl as she was portrayed on the show, and she is Queen Eleanor’s spy, her father is very close to King Richard.
> 
> Guy finally had a long-awaited final confrontation with the sheriff. I hope you liked some insight into Vaisey’s life: the sheriff loved Ghislane, but she rejected him and he spread vile rumors about her to take revenge for rejection; he was also hated by his own father, which made him so vile and cruel. Now you understand why the sheriff hates all women so much and calls them lepers. Did Guy kill the sheriff? I cannot tell you that, but I will be interested to know your thoughts.
> 
> Marian and Guy are separated, perhaps for some time or perhaps forever, I cannot tell you my secret right now. Dark drama will unfold around Guy and Marian in part 3 “Fight for Peace”. Please don’t be angry with me, for I promise that Marian/Guy storyline is not finished yet.
> 
> In the Middle Ages, marriages could really be annulled on the grounds of pre-contract. For example, King Richard III used the same ground to have Elizabeth Woodville’s marriage to his brother, King Edward IV, annulled, though I actually don’t believe that in this case pre-contract existed. Most likely it was a sheer fiction to give a veneer of legitimacy to the usurpation of the throne by Richard.
> 
> Robin fans should be happy and don’t need to suffer anymore because Robin has emerged from oblivion and he is not going to die. I know that you cannot see the changes in Robin’s character just in one chapter, but some of them are already obvious. Robin is very fragile and vulnerable, and he is very unbalanced, which is proved by his conversation with Will. In the next chapters, you will see the development of Robin’s disillusionment arc.
> 
> There are only four chapters left in part 2 "Mysteries Unveiled." The story/novel will be updated every month and will be completed by end of the year. In January or in February, I will start uploading the chapters in part 3 "Fight for Peace."


	14. Earning Redemption

**Chapter 14**

**Earning Redemption**

The feast in the great hall was over, and Isabella of Gisborne was waiting for Prince John in her chamber. For their night date, she chose the most delicate, feminine and wicked garment she had ever seen in her life – a nightgown made out of the finest spun silk, in a shade that rivaled the color of her steel blue eyes, with a deep inset of blue lace across the bosom and with a V-shaped deep-bosom neckline. She had to please the prince and thank him for what he had done for her tonight; she also wanted something else from him – to be free from her husband, and she would get what she craved.

Almost mesmerized by thoughts of her triumph, Isabella stood near the huge bed, dreaming of power and wealth. Then she heard the outer door open and shut, and she swung around. Her mouth went dry as she stared at Prince John who stood at the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his red silk night robe. The robe clung naturally to every line of his body, every curve, and every swell was clearly outlined. It was easy to realize that John was naked under the robe.

Prince John stared at Isabella, thinking that he was a lucky man to have her in his bed. She was very beautiful, with her steel blue eyes and her voluptuous body. He liked her cheeks flushing a shade of rose no flower could match for loveliness. She understood him so well, and she was using him for her purposes, but he was using her too. He had never met a woman as ambitious, cunning, devious, crafty, and fierce in her desires as Isabella was – she was so much like him. He believed that she deserved to live a wonderful, glorious life with him, even though he couldn’t marry her.

From the very first moment John had set his eyes on Isabella, the wife of Squire Thornton, one of the newly recruited Black Knights, he burned for her and missed her when they were separated. Now John again hankered to feel her skin against his own and to see the flames of desire in her eyes at a touch of his hand to her flesh.

Prince John laughed and walked to Isabella. He pulled her into his arms and brushed his mouth teasingly against her full lips. “I was waiting for this minute for so long,” he whispered huskily.

Isabella smiled with a provocative smile. “I was waiting for you, my king.”

She didn’t love Prince John, but she was attracted to him and seduced by the idea of amassing power and wealth. He was an experienced lover, passionate, affectionate, and caring. John was so different from her husband, who had continuously raped her and had beaten her throughout the long years of her dreadful marriage that was like a purgatory that allowed no soul to leave its wretched borders until it had thoroughly suffered some kind of penance. Besides, being the prince’s love interest was a feather in her cap, and she thrived obscenely in his attention.

There was a frankly carnal glint in John’s eyes. His hands caressed her back and moved to cup her breasts, and then he pressed her hard to himself. “Well, then, I suppose I will be rewarded this night for my patience and loyalty to our deal.”

His mouth captured hers, his hands lowering to her hips and pulling her firmly against him. She was pliant and breathless when he finally lifted his mouth from hers, blood thudding through her body.

“Milord, there is another thing.”

“Anything to please a lady!”

Isabella glanced into his eyes. “I am still a married woman, milord.”

“Ah, your husband… You still want to get rid of him?”

Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “I want Squire Thornton dead,” she said in a hissing tone. “You promised that he would die if I checked loyalties of Vaisey and Gisborne.”

“And you played your role very well, my beloved Isabella.”

She smiled with a satisfied smile. “And?”

“I myself will kill him!” Prince John pledged, brushing his lips against her ear.

Isabella was stunned into a sort of pleasurable immobility, for the prince’s kiss was hungry and possessive, even more possessive than kisses he had given her before. His lips, far too soft for male lips, moved over hers with gentle persuasion and firm insistence. His breathing mingled with hers.

Then the kiss ended, Isabella looked into the prince’s eyes. “My king, are you telling me the truth that you will kill Squire Thornton?”

"Why are you bewildered, my love?" His voice was husky, his eyes dark and knowing. Lifting his hand to cup her cheek, he touched the pad of his thumb to her lower lip. "Have I ever deceived you?”

She smiled brightly. “No, you haven’t. Never ever.”

John looked thoughtful for a second, his mind plotting new schemes. “You once told me that Thornton sleeps with both women and men.”

Isabella stiffened. “I hate him. I hate him with all my heart.”

“Now you have your brother to repay him for everything bad he did to you,” he said with a dark smirk ear to ear.

“Thank you, my king.”

“Welcome, Isabella.”

“What of my husband, sire?”

He smiled cunningly. “If you want to humiliate him and kill him, I can order to arrest him and accuse him of indulging himself in sin.” He laughed. “Imagine what a grand execution we can make for him.”

She arched a brow. “Is that such a crime if he is a sodomite?”

“Of course, my dear,” John assured. “The Catholic Church prohibits it. If someone of even high-ranked nobles is accused of sodomy, he would eventually meet his death on the scaffold.”

Isabella was pleased. A traitorous shiver of sadistic pleasure rippled through her at the thought that Squire Thornton would be publicly humiliated. Yet, she didn’t want to humiliate herself by letting the world know that he husband was a cruel monster who liked boys in a bed; she had to keep silent about her unfortunate past. “I believe that his public humiliation will also be my disgrace.”

His thumb traced the smaller curves of her upper lip. “I agree, sweetheart. I don’t want them to know what this beast did to you.” His face darkened with rage. “I, too, want him dead.”

 “I want him dead more.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Then I will kill him myself before my coronation, when you come to London next time. I will make him scream and writhe in pain before he dies. Would that be enough for you?”

She smiled. “More than enough.”

He shoved back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. "You cannot imagine how much I will miss you after my departure to London. Ah, I would have stayed here for another week, but I cannot!”

Amusement glinted in her eyes. "I will miss you, too.”

John read her mind. “You doubt that I will miss you, don’t you?”

“You have many mistresses, milord.”

Prince John wanted Isabella with his entire being. No matter what she said or did, his body reacted to her manipulations with fierce desire to take her and make her his in all senses. Her seductive voice sent little frissons of pleasure and desire up and down his spine. Every time she gave him a dazzling smile, passion overcame him, and his loins swelled with heart-stopping desire. She was a witch and a temptress. He dreamt of kissing her and touching her perfect body; he wanted her with despair and fierceness and possessiveness, which he felt for a few of his lovers.

And Isabella of Gisborne was so beautiful and so seductive. He had known only one woman who was more beautiful than Isabella – his own cousin, Lady Melisende Plantagenet, Countess of Huntingdon and Countess de Bordeaux, who was now carrying Robin of Locksley’s child.

Straightening his shoulders, John fixed his mistress with a haughty glance. "I am the future King of England. I can do everything I want. I can have anyone in my bed. My subjects and ladies love me.”

She tensed, then relaxed, reminding herself that she was playing with him. “Sire, but I surely love you more than others.” She took one of his hands in hers and then kissed his fingers. “I have proved you that I can do everything for you, my king. I even went to the Holy Land on an important and dangerous errand.” She gazed into his eyes. “I would have done everything for you.”

"Isabella, you have proved your loyalty," he said sincerely. “I will also do everything for you.”

She sucked in an uneven breath. “Thank you, my king.”

“There has never been anyone like you in my bed, my Isabella,” the prince whispered against her mouth. “You are a concoction of what I love in a woman.”

Prince John pressed her closer, his hand sliding down her back and flattening her against his hard body as he rained down kisses, licks, and bites on her neck, her lips, and her cheeks.

"And Lady Amicia de Beaumont," she murmured against his cheek. "Isn’t she better than me in a bed?”

John drew back slightly. “Amicia is a good lover and a rational adviser, but she is not you.”

She smiled at his words. “So I am better, am I?”

He grinned as he drew her into his arms. "Amicia is a skilled lover. She is beautiful and kind and clever. She has been my mistress for more than six years.” His voice took a lower octave. “But I don’t let her meddle into the affairs of the internal circle, like I am letting you.” His grin grew wider. “She is not among the Black Knights, and she will never be one of us.”

“So you will discard her soon?" she said curiously.

Prince John brushed her hair from her cheek as his eyes searched her face. “Why should I get rid of Amicia?” He laughed. “She is a tigress in a bedroom.”

"My king, you are so virile,” she murmured with a sweet smile, but inwardly she cringed in disgust at the thought of how many women slept with the prince.

"I am the best lover, sweetheart," he whispered against her mouth. "Let me give you pleasure. Only pleasure." He smiled cordially. “I am not your husband. I will never hurt you, my love.”

His body on fire, John lifted Isabella and carried her to the bed. He frantically tore at Isabella’s clothing, and his seeking hands touched the warm, flesh of her bosom and denied no further exploration. Catching her hands in his, he pulled them behind her back and held them prisoner, his other hand caressing and fondling her breasts through the silk material of her nightgown. Isabella groaned and pushed herself against him, melting with the hot desire that coursed through her. A lecher by nature, John always liked playful and exotic lovemaking, and Isabella enjoyed it, too.

With her arms held prisoner behind her, Isabella could only twist in his embrace, the greedy hunger for him growing with every passing moment. John disentangled from her and took a step back, his lips stretched wide in a grin. A low growl erupted from him as he lay back on the bed and lifted her atop of him, with her nightgown bunched up around her waist.

She straddled him and began to slowly grind herself on top of him. John entered her in one powerful thrust, and Isabella moaned excitedly, her head thrown back in mindless rapture. She joined her lover in the eager race as she drove them both towards fathomless release. Soon, they convulsed on the bed as they reached their scarlet oblivion.

“I am impressed, my beauty,” Prince John murmured thickly against her lips. His breath, warm and wine scented, wafted against her skin. “We have the whole night to pleasure each other.”

Her mouth red from his kisses, Isabella shook her head. “One night is not enough with you, my king.”

“Say it again!” The prince’s face suddenly hard with desire, his lips were still faintly touching her cheek.

“Long live King John!” Isabella cried out earnestly, and happily kissed his chin and jaw.

"Oh, long live me." Her flattery inflamed him, and John kissed her so passionately that all coherent thoughts fled, and he drove himself into her, the whole of him fixed on pleasure from their encounter.

Later, Isabella lay in the prince’s arms, her mood elevated but her heart heavy. She was only grateful to him for the power he gave her and for the fact that she would be given her freedom soon, when the prince would dispose of her husband. John loved her as he loved many other mistresses – he loved neither of them and only lusted after them. She didn’t want to be one of many mistresses who entertained the prince in his bedchamber, but she would rather be _a lover of a royal wastrel_ , who squandered his God-given royal inheritance in reckless living than a demeaned wife of a callous beast.

But Isabella wasn’t happy. She wanted to be loved – to be loved truly, utterly, and unconditionally. Her most cherished dream _was_ to be the only true love in someone’s life, like Robin of Locksley was rumored to have been devoted to Lady Marian of Knighton. Rumors were that Robin had fallen in love with his new wife in the months preceding his death, and Isabella didn’t doubt that it was possible, for she had seen Melisende only once and had been impressed by Melisende’s beauty. She envied both Marian and Melisende that they had Robin’s heart at least for some time.

She frequently remembered Robin after his death in the Holy Land, regretting that her actions had contributed so much to his death. She had been smitten by Robin when they had met in Acre, for he was a handsome, compassionate, tender, and noble-hearted. He had saved her life from the sheriff in the desert, where he had dragged her before Vaisey had learned about her association with Prince John, and she was still grateful to Robin. Robin Hood was a man whom she would have married with great pleasure and would have never let him go. She could have loved Robin of Locksley if he had developed a bit of affection for her and had displayed it, but he loved his wife and perhaps Marian as well, she thought bitterly.

There was another man whom Isabella often remembered – Sir Roger de Tosny, Baron de Conches. When she had been a twelve-years-old girl, she had been elated every time she had seen him in the courtyard of his huge and gorgeous castle in Conches. She had been extremely happy when Roger had begun to display his affection for her, giving her small presents, inviting her for a ride, and giving her his a large and kind smile. He had liked talking to her about her daily activities, her interests, and her plans for the future. A dull ache gripped her chest at the memory of Roger; Isabella believed that she could have loved him if Guy hadn’t run from Roger to Vaisey, whom she hated with all her heart.

But, for now, Isabella was content. She had Guy in her possession – in the underground dungeons under the Castle of Nottingham. She was Prince John’s mistress. She was the Sheriff of Nottingham. Vaisey was dead and Guy would soon pay for her pain and misery. She wished she could say that she was happy at the moment, but she wasn't.

Unlike the lovers in the prince’s bedchamber, Marian had a long and difficult night. Her face was decidedly grim as she sat on the bed with both of her arms chained to the wall. Her mind was racing as she tried to design a plan of escape at the first available opportunity. For some time, she was positive that she would flee somehow, but then her spirits plummeted. It seemed impossible because she was not only chained, but also heavily guarded as if she were a more dangerous prisoner than Guy. If she couldn’t escape, then she would have to travel to London while Guy would probably remain in Nottingham and would be executed by his own sister.

Dawn was less than an hour away when Prince John came to Marian’s room. The prince had already left Isabella’s chambers, had a bath, and changed his clothes for, now wearing an expensive and dandyish crimson and blue brocade doublet, with a high jeweled collar. Smiling at his prisoner, John watched Marian in silence for a long time, admiring her beauty and actually thinking that it was not a bad idea to sleep with her. Sitting on her bed, Marian also observed him, aware of the danger her life was in and of the prince’s heated looks stares at her, but she couldn’t avoid his glance.

“Sire, are you serious that you will take me to London and marry me off to the Earl of Buckingham?” Marian broke the silence, her eyes challenging the prince.

“Good’s blood, yes!” Prince John said with a laugh. “I am just surprised that you don’t approve of such a brilliant marriage.” A teasing glint in his eyes, he added, “Or do you love Guy of Gisborne?”

“It is my deal, milord,” she replied.

John flashed a crooked smile. “Lady Marian, this is getting more interesting! Maybe your sympathies are with the tragically deceased Robin Hood, not with Guy of Gisborne?” He chuckled. “Hood was a handsome man, and I have heard that my cousin Melisende is madly in love with him.”

“Why do you say these things to me?” she asked breathlessly.

He grinned, a sparkle in his eyes. “Well, Lady Isabella is very frank with me; we are very close to her. She told me about your delicate situation – you used to be in a dangerous love triangle with Hood and Gisborne.” His grin widened just a bit. “Robin of Locksley was a fortunate soul, and Guy of Gisborne is a lucky man, too.”

Marian tried very hard to be insulted by the taunt in his voice, but mingled with her feelings of insult was a giddy sensation of embarrassment. Ignoring the flutter in her stomach, she risked a glance at him and then wished she hadn't – the teasing expression in his eyes increased her nervousness.

“Sire, is this betrothal agreement real?” she changed the topic.

“Yes, it is, my lady. Your own father agreed to this match.”

Marian gasped as she struggled to believe that Sir Edward Fitzwalter had permitted the Black Knight to marry her. Had her father been in a right mind or was he possessed by a black despair when he had agreed to sell her in exchange for their illusionary freedom? Her father had been aware of her feelings for Robin and of their clandestine rendezvous in the forest. And, yet, Marian wasn’t as stunned as she could have been if she hadn’t known about Sir Edward’s disapproval of Robin’s outlawry. But King Richard had told her that Edward had always known about Robin’s was true parentage and had wanted her to marry Robin. She was confused, and the truth about her betrothal to Buckingham was shrouded in the mists of mystery. 

"I don’t want to marry the man whom I despise," she declared.

He let her comment pass, and a sardonic look crossed his face. “You despise him?” he inquired. “I know that Buckingham has lived scandalously. Waves of shocking gossip about him spread from person to person at my court, but he is a grand match for any woman.”

An irritated Marian parried, “I am not all women, and I am not a thing."

John leaned forward and gave Marian’s dark head an affectionate caress. “Oh, no doubt you are right. After all, you captured the hearts of Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne.”

She snuggled closer to the wall, trying to stay away from John’s hands. “I would be grateful if you stop treating me like one of your mistresses, milord. You have Lady Isabella and others at your feet.”

“My lady, your dislike of me is irrational!” John averred almost piously, a wicked twinkle in his eyes. “You would have loved to have me in your bed. And if I want to take you, you will be mine! Even Lord Buckingham won’t protest because he is a clever, ambitious man who wants to be in my highest favor.” His expression changed into feigned innocence. “Buckingham loves me, and you should love me, too.”

“I won’t marry this man! Never!”

“You will marry Buckingham. He wants you, Lady Marian, and I owe him,” John said straightforwardly.

“Owe him?” She looked dumbfounded.

A lazy smile on his mouth, the prince absentmindedly sat down on the edge of the bed. “Sheriff Vaisey and Lord Buckingham are my most loyal men among the Black Knights; Vaisey was very loyal to me, too.” The shout of laughter followed. “With their help, I will be King of England very soon.”

Marian regarded him with horrified revulsion etched into her features. “What did you do to King Richard? Did you send buy the loyalty of one of the king’s loyal men to kill him in his sleep?”

“No. This time, we were more creative. Maybe he has already suffered his final defeat.”

She felt bile rise in her throat and tried to hold it back. “What did you do to him?”

John laughed. “Something very original, Lady Marian.”

“He is your brother and your king!” Marian said breathlessly. "Why do you want him dead? Why?"

“I have always hated Richard, and my father wanted me to inherit the throne.” John plastered an angelic smile on his mouth while his eyes were blazing with fire. “Richard won’t return to England anytime soon.”

Marian’s brain was working hard. She couldn’t help the king, at least before she was released from captivity, but she could try to help herself. “But why didn’t the earl make his intentions known before?”

“At first, you, Lady Marian, were in Acre, and then the Earl of Buckingham was out of England. He was on an important errand for me; he spent much time with some of our international powerful allies, conducting negotiations on my behalf.”

A knowing look crossed her face. “Does this errand concern King Richard?”

“Naturally!” John smiled wryly. “You are challenging me to a fight every minute. I like that, but I may become angry, and then you will see another side of me.”

“I don’t want to quarrel with you,” Marian snapped back, trembling at the thought that the prince might have become cruel to her. Yet, she was a strong woman, stronger than her captor believed her to be; she didn’t fear him. “Sire, I think that the real reason for your animosity towards your brother and your mother is your jealousy and envy. Their glory wounds your pride.”

“Envy and jealousy?” the prince growled with vexation. “Richard and I are different! How can you compare me with that rude and pitiful unmanly man who even cannot get his wife with child?” He giggled. “Who knows what kind of leanings my brother has?”

Marian understood that the prince alluded to rumors that King Richard liked bedding men, but she chose to ignore that. “I saw King Richard in the Holy Land, and I liked him,” she admitted readily.

“Bloody hell! You are too willful!” the prince chided her, and that sounded almost playfully. “Lord Buckingham will teach you lessons of obedience.”

“Sire, you won’t help me to break this freaky engagement?”

“On the contrary, Lady Marian, you will marry my dear Buckingham! I am going to contact the Archbishop of Canterbury and demand the annulment of your marriage to Gisborne.”

His words gave her a great deal of shock, and she blanched. “No, you cannot!”

“I can and I will,” the prince said slowly, with authority. “I need Buckingham’s loyalty, and I will give him what he wants the most – you. And, by the way, I don’t think you are in a position to demand anything, Lady Marian.” His lips thinned in a tight line. “You were discovered to be consorting with a dangerous criminal – your lover. Now you are an outlaw if I don’t say otherwise.”

“King Richard pardoned Guy!”

John snorted. “Gisborne killed Lord Vaisey, which is a new crime after he received his pardon.”

“What are you going to do to Guy?”

“I have appointed Isabella the Sheriff of Nottingham, and Gisborne is at her mercy, my lady.” He chuckled. “I believe she has many interesting plans to make her _beloved brother_ squirm in pain.”

“Good Lord!” Marian exclaimed, aghast. “Please, release Guy! I will marry Lord Buckingham if you spare Guy’s life!”

John was pleased. “I will command Isabella to delay Gisborne’s execution until the day of your marriage to the Earl of Buckingham, which will be the day of my coronation.” A gleeful expression suffused his features. “My coronation will take place in London in several months.”

“Then Guy will live, right?”

“Yes, he will.” He rose from the bed. “Isabella will be pleased to keep her brother in the dungeons for several months. I think she will mete out new sophisticated methods of torture to him.”

A horrified Marian cried out, “It cannot be true, milord! She won’t do this to Guy!”

“I am being very serious. I gave Isabella what she wanted; I cannot deny her request.”

“Oh!”

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” he retorted back.

“This is monstrous!” she exploded. “I know that Isabella is a cold-hearted and cruel woman, but even she is not capable of such an atrocious deed! Guy is her brother!”

The prince seemed to be full of glee. “You don’t know Isabella. She is capable of doing many things.”

“Like you?”

He nodded. “Like me and many others.”

“How can I persuade you to spare Guy’s life, sire?”

“You can do nothing,” John asserted uncompromisingly. “I can only promise that Gisborne has three-four months to live in the dungeons until my coronation.” He gave her a fierce glare. “If you try to escape, then he will die.” She wanted to play with him, and he figured out her intentions – he accepted her challenge. He was more cunning that she had ever imagined him to be, and he was also supremely confident in his destiny to be King of England.

“You have my word that I won’t try to run away. I will marry Lord Buckingham,” Marian muttered in a fierce, low tone, her head bowed; her visible submission bought her more time, she thought.

“Clever girl,” the prince said blankly. “Have a pleasant time, my dear.” Spinning on his heels, he stalked swiftly from the room, exceedingly pleased with what he had achieved.

The next morning, Prince John and his escort party departed from Nottingham to London; Lady Marian of Knighton left with the prince, and she was as heavily guarded as the worst criminal in England. John officially declared Isabella the Sheriff of Nottingham. The guards who had precisely served Vaisey swore their fealty to Isabella. Standing on the front step of the castle and smiling at the people, Isabella promised to be a fair and just sheriff and make arrests only as a last resort; she hankered to create and cultivate a high public opinion about herself, even though she wasn’t going to adhere to high moral standards while serving legal processes, executing civil judgments, and exercising her power in any other way.

§§§

After Prince John’s departure, in the great hall, Lady Isabella of Gisborne sat in the high-back chair that had been usually occupied by Sheriff Peter Vaisey of Nottingham.

Isabella smiled smugly, delighted that now she had power and wealth. She didn’t have love, but she could live without it. Her heart was full of powerful, burning hatred as her mind drifted back to Guy. She hated Guy wholeheartedly and wanted him to suffer. She wanted her brother to be as unhappy as she had been, living in Shrewsbury, before Prince John had made her his mistress and had arranged her legal separation from Thornton. She wanted Guy dead.

Each and every detail of her dreadful marriage was engraved in her memory forever. Only Isabella, her unknown fiancé, Vaisey, and Guy had been present at the wedding ceremony that had resembled more a funeral than a wedding. Dressed in an old, battered gown of white, heavy linen and wearing a silver cross on her bosom, Isabella had been an image of a pious merchant’s daughter, looking like an aristocratic lady only in her proud posture. Her gown had been supplied by Vaisey who had borrowed it from the owner of the inn where they had stayed and only on condition that it would be returned to him immediately after the wedding night.

They had had a small feast after the ceremony, when Isabella had accepted the congratulations of Vaisey who had laughed at her and had said that she would have an excellent wedding night. Guy had been quiet and somber, fearing to look at her. During the ceremony and later celebration, Isabella had kept her face impassive, but her eyes hadn’t sparkled in joy when she had cast brief, sidelong glances at her brother. She had pretended that she had listened to Vaisey’s despicable and caustic comments and Squire Thornton’s senseless chatter, wishing her to be far away from them.

Despite her unwillingness to marry Squire Thornton, Isabella had truly intended to be a good and dutiful wife; she had planned to follow the rules her mother had taught her in childhood. The wedding night had been the worst experience in her entire life: Isabella had been brutally beaten and raped by Thornton, who had enjoyed the pain he had inflicted on her during their first intimacy.

“I like that you have bled, Isabella. You bled because you were a virgin and because I struck you a lot,” Squire Thornton told her after he had taken her maidenhead. “Now we can start again when you are clean and when I feel that I want to make you mine again, wife. I will have you for my pleasure and delight. You will bear my heirs, and I will be content.”

Sick and groggy, Isabella had complained that she had been physically hurting, but Thornton had laughed at her and had slapped her hard against her cheek. She had never been beaten by Guy and her parents, and she had raged at her husband, but in response, he had punched her in her face and had continued beating her until she had been unable to stand on her feet and even hadn’t had a bit of strength to moan. Then Thornton had put her to bed and called a servant girl to tend to Isabella’s bruises. The rapist had explained that he had only punished Isabella for her own good and that if she had obeyed his rules and orders, he would never beat her again.

When Isabella had awoken after her wedding night, Guy had already been gone. Guy hadn’t been aware of what she had endured on the weeding night. Feeling abandoned by her brother, Isabella had cursed him many times in her mind, hating him with all her heart. They had left Angers for England on the same day, in spite of the fact that Isabella had felt unwell and had had to wear her hood outdoors; her blue-black bruises on her face had been very visible. Squire Thornton had brought his young wife to Shrewsbury, where he still owned lands and wealth, which he had inherited from his father.

Isabella had never been happy with her husband. Throughout their gruesome marriage, their bed had been a battlefield of hatred and violence as Thornton had sought to subjugate her and had derived pleasure from causing his wife – his victim – as much physical pain as possible. She had never enjoyed their wild encounters! Their nights had been typical: the man had tied Isabella’s hands to a headboard and then had taken her in any way he wanted, beating her in the process. Twice he had beaten her almost to death! Moreover, Thornton had also forced her to satisfy his needs in the most immoral ways, which, in Isabella’s opinion, her mother and any decent would have been ashamed of thinking about.

Isabella had found consolation in the fact that Squire Thornton had slept with servant girls and peasants from Shrewsbury and had also visited a local brothel. She had always been relieved when her husband had slept with someone else and left her in peace. Besides, Isabella had quickly discovered that Thornton had both female and male lovers, from time to time sleeping with stable boys and male servants. She had grown to hate his mere sight, feeling disgusted when he had come to her after having intercourse with another man somewhere in stables or even in his own chambers.

Over time, Squire Thornton had become crueler and more sadistic because Isabella had failed to give him heirs. She had never gotten pregnant, and he had humiliated her, calling her a dirty bitch with an empty womb. But Thornton had never sired a bastard on one of his lovers, and perhaps, Isabella wasn’t barren. Overall, Isabella was glad that her disastrous marriage was childless, for she would have never wanted her child to remind her of the nights with her husband she wanted to forget.

Everything had changed in Isabella’s life when she had met John, who had become her savior from the darkness, where she had lived in since her marriage to Thornton. She needed John as much as she needed air to breathe, and there was no way she was going to lose what she had accomplished.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor pulled Isabella out of her thoughts. Her mind floated to Guy, and a tyrannical smile illuminated her lovely face. Her heart pounding a hideous ecstasy, at the thought that she would begin her quest for vengeance today, she jumped to her feet like an excited maiden bustling with news about a great marriage proposal. She stormed out of the great hall and rushed to the corridor. Calling Blamire, Isabella walked through the corridor, her eyes taking in every feature of the castle that had become her official residence yesterday.

She was irritated that she Blamire still didn’t come. “Blamire, where are you?” she shouted.

Finally, she heard the dull echo of leather boots clomping down the corridor. She froze tensely, listening. As she saw Blamire, she smiled and feigned an attitude of not having a care in the world.

Blamire bowed to the lady sheriff. “Lady Isabella, I am at your service.”

“Blamire, I want to pay _a friendly visit_ to Gisborne,” she asserted.

“Please follow me, Lady Isabella,” Blamire replied.

Guy of Gisborne lay on a straw mattress in his damp, dark cell. The guards had thrown him not in the dungeons where they usually kept all prisoners, but in _the underground prison_ that had been built at Vaisey’s initiative. Nobody, except for the most entrusted guards, knew about the existence of _the underground hell_ , as Vaisey had once referred to his invention, proudly. At Isabella’s initiative, Prince John ordered to have Guy imprisoned there, so that nobody could find and free the prisoner.

A feeling of coolness swept over Guy’s face, and the pain was in every inch of his body. He struggled to open his eyes, but his head was pounding in pain and his eyelids were heavy, and his mind dimly locked onto the knowledge that he lay on a firm, cold surface, in total darkness and icy chilliness, as if he were in a coffin or a tomb. Suspecting where he had been thrown, he was afraid to open his eyes, his heart clinging to the vestiges of hope that it was only a nightmare that would soon pass.

As he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, Guy sat up on his mattress. He clutched his head as a bolt of pain shot through his scull; his headache reminded him of what had happened several hours ago. He glanced around and saw a light in the corridor illuminated by flickering torches.

In a moment, Isabella of Gisborne came into view, followed by Vaisey’s new captain of the guards – Blamire. Guy drew up short as soon as he saw his sister, his gaze sweeping over her luxurious and seductive gown and coming to rest on her lips curled in a satisfied smile.

“Do you like your new home, brother?” Isabella inquired tartly. “Is everything to your liking?”

Guy rose to his feet, with difficulty. He came to the bars and looked at Isabella. “How long have you been with the Black Knights, playing a role of a poor, helpless wife who needed my protection?”

“For several months before our departure to the Holy Land,” she responded dryly.

“Where is Marian?”

Isabella ignored his question. “You look unhappy, brother,” she said mockingly. “Don’t be so chagrined, Guy. I have many ideas of how to make your stay here quite entertaining. Nobody will find you here. And I will ensure that your life won’t be dull here.”

Guy eyed her with a dark smirk. “You are not going to execute me soon?”

She raised his chin. “Not now.”

“Do you want to make me pay for what I did to you?”

Isabella responded coldly, “Certainly! Prince John wants to execute you on the day of his coronation and Marian’s wedding to the Earl of Buckingham.”

Guy shuddered. A prickle of fear was running down his spine at her words, and before he even realized it, his legs buckled and he hauled his depleted body over a nearby wall. Then he slowly sank to his knees and moaned. His physical exhaustion and the pain from his wounds were taking their toll on him.

He lifted his eyes to his sister’s face. “Prince John’s coronation?”

“Yes.” Her mouth curved into one of her feline smiles.

Guy gasped in shock. He looked absolutely terrified. “King Richard…” He stopped himself before he could say anything else.

“It is not your deal, brother.”

“What did the prince do to the king?” he pressed on.

Guy waited, expecting some response, but all he saw was a momentary flicker of something ambiguous, perhaps a flicker of doubt or fear, in Isabella’s angry and cold eyes; he knew that she hesitated to talk, to say something important to him, but he had no clue what it was.

“I will ask Doctor Blight to come and stitch your wounds. I don’t want you to die from infection.” A wry smile curved her lips, her eyes glittering with danger. “Your time hasn’t come yet, brother.”

“Thank you,” Guy said.”

Isabella fell silent and stared at Guy for a moment longer, but there was no trace of sisterly affection in her eyes. Instead, her eyes were chilly and dark like burnt-out stars as her lips parted and words came out. "You know of the existence of demons," she declared coolly. “I promise that you will see hell on earth very soon, brother. It will be much worse than being tormented by demons.”

Then Isabella swung around and moved towards the door. Blamire was following her like a shadow, and only the sound of their receding footsteps and the gathering darkness announced their departure.

Guy sat on his knees, staring into the emptiness for some time, and then he cupped his face with his hands. He gave a howl of despair and threw himself down, on the stone floor. He felt the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes, and he called his mother’s name in despair.

He shouldn’t be stunned that Isabella wanted his disgrace, suffering, and eventually death, but he still couldn’t believe that she had managed to fool him during so many months, planning her cutthroat  revenge on him beforehand. Vaisey had been right when he had told him, moments before his death, that he hadn’t known his own sister. He wondered when his sister had become a monster.

Guy saw a reflection of himself in Isabella. Did they inherit cruelty from gentle and kind Ghislaine? Or did life make them sworn foes and monsters? And Guy also was well aware that Isabella had been compelled to step into darkness when he had sold her to Squire Thornton. The thought that he had made his own sister a monster made his heart twisted in pain. He was guilty, and it was time to pay back his debt to her.

The act of vengeance – killing Vaisey – had been committed, but the price could have been very high – Guy’s own life and even Marian’s life. The game for survival was beginning.

The next morning after Gisborne’s arrest, Doctor Blight, Vaisey’s personal physician, was blindfolded and led to Guy’s cell. He tended to the wounds Guy had gotten in the fight with the sheriff. Although Blight cleaned and bandaged the wounds, he wasn’t allowed to give Guy some painkilling herbs, and Guy had to tolerate terrible pain for several days. Luckily, he didn’t contract a high fever, like it had happened to him in the Holy Land after Isabella’s arrow had struck him in his right shoulder.

During several days, nobody visited Gisborne, and only some food was given to him – a little bread and some water. As his wounds healed a little, Guy made a desperate attempt to escape, but he was captured by Blamire and other guards. Guy tried to struggle and knocked out two guards, and in response one of them stabbed him in his left side – in the same place where he had stabbed Robin Hood in the Saracen attack, with the only difference that his injury wasn’t as deep and dangerous as Robin’s. Then Isabella again invited Doctor Blight, who cleaned and stitched Guy’s new wound.

A long time passed, and a blend of silence and anguish blanketed Guy's whole being, like a shroud. All he could do was to Guy on a straw mattress, thinking that his body was like a mass of bruises and muscles, waiting for his tormentors to come to him. And one day it happened: Guy heard a creak of the opening door that made him shudder in horror. As the orange flame of a torch fell on his face, he squinted and raised his hand over his eyes protectively.

“Who is here?” Guy's heart thundered in his chest.

The answer was a female laugh, and then Guy saw Isabella in the light from the torch which she was holding in her arm. His eyes narrowed on her with a sudden predatory intensity, but then his features relaxed, and he smiled involuntarily as his eyes took in her impudently cut gown of yellow silk. She looked very beautiful, proud, and self-assured, and there was a triumphal smile on her face.

“Oh, Guy, Guy,” Isabella’s voice sounded pleased and cheerful. “You used to be such a gorgeous knight, tall, handsome, and leather-clad man.” She laughed. “And who are you now?”

“What do you want, Isabella?” Guy grumbled. He barely repressed his moan as the burning pain in his side slashed through him at the attempt to move his body.

“Don’t change your position, brother. It will cause you more pain,” she advised.

A trembling Guy asked, “Why are you here?"

“You will find out soon, brother,” she said sarcastically.

Then Guy noticed Blamire who stood behind Isabella. “We will have much fun today, Lady Isabella,” Blamire promised in a menacing tone.

Isabella smiled. “Oh, we will.”

Blamire punched Guy in his face with brutal violence that took Guy’s breath away. Guy groaned, and the world around him sank into darkness as he passed out from a powerful blow.

When Guy opened his eyes next time, he knew that he was in the torture room. Guy moaned as he felt a sharp pain coursing through his bare back. The realization dawned upon him – he was being flogged. He was lying on the table on his stomach: he was naked and spread-eagled, his wrists and ankles tied to the corners of the table, the rope secured to the table's legs. The whip landed cruelly on his back and buttocks, ripping his skin, and Guy screamed in pain, thinking that Blamire was beating him with a violent force, clearly trying to inflict a great pain on him and savoring every moment of Guy’s agony.

Guy moved his head and groaned quietly; he desperately tried to repress his moans as much as he could. He cast a sideways glance at his tormentor, who was armed with a long whip made of thongs of plaited leather, and then he winced at the memory of how he himself had tortured and beaten prisoners when he had served Vaisey. A feeling of sharp guilt pricked his conscience, and he caught himself on the thought that he pitied all the men whom he had flogged with the same whip.

In the corner of the room, Isabella stood and watched Guy’s torture. “Ah, my dear Guy, do you like your punishment?” She let out a laugh. “Do you like being flogged like a peasant or a slave?”

Guy stiffened, suppressing a groan. The thought that he was being beaten like a peasant or, worse, a slave, was revolting, for it injured his pride and lowered his self-esteem. But the fact that flogging was forced on Guy by his own sister, who enjoyed his sufferings, made his blood freeze in his veins.

“Isabella, are you enjoying the sight of my lacerated back?” Guy was genuinely curious.

“Brother, you are getting what you deserve,” Isabella retorted.

"You have debonair manners in treating your relatives, sister,” Guy said sarcastically. Then he groaned at the next strike of the whip.

His barb enraged Isabella. “Blamire, you should beat him harder,” she commanded.

“Isabella, you are…” Guy stammered as the whip landed on his back with another vicious smack.

She clapped her hands, as if in frustration. “Ah, poor Guy! Poor man!”

“In the Roman Empire, flogging was often used as a prelude to crucifixion. The Romans reserved this treatment for non-citizens,” Blamire’s voice resonated. “Will we crucify this worm later, Lady Isabella?”

Isabella smiled. “We will do to Guy what Prince John orders.”

Blamire stopped the beating and walked to the corner of the room. He took a long leather whip with two wide pieces of metal at the end, which he intended to use to make the flogging more painful.

Guy didn’t see what Blamire was doing. He rejoiced that there was a small break in his torture. At least, he had some time to collect himself and his strengths before they continued beating him.

“I will take a special whip, my lady,” Blamire informed. “I promise that it will be awful for him.”

Guy shuddered in shock as he understood what Blamire meant. He himself used the same whip many times when he had tortured prisoners. Once he had even used the same leather whip with pieces of metal at the tip on Robin Hood after the outlaw had been captured in the strong room and hadn’t managed to escape. It was the only time when Guy had tortured Robin with his own hands, enjoying the pain he had inflicted on his childhood enemy and imagining the face of Malcolm of Locksley at the sight of his precious golden boy being put to the rack and beaten like a low criminal. Now, when Guy knew that Robin also was Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine’s son, he was severely ashamed of himself.

“Excellent, just great,” Isabella uttered in nearly exultant tones.

“You are cruel, Isabella,” Guy hissed.

Isabella threw her head back and laughed. “And what did you think your stay here will be like?” Her voice went down to a serpent’s hissing. “What did you expect from me after you ruined my life and sold me to Squire Thornton, Guy? We are having a great day, brother.”

“I suppose it would be greater soon, sister,” Guy muttered.

“Right, brother,” Isabella confirmed.

Blamire surveyed Guy’s back. “His skin is damaged, but I can give him more lashes.”

Isabella eyed Guy’s prone form askance. “Do that.”

“Hellish pain, huh?” Blamire croaked with laughter as he started beating Guy with the new whip.

“No,” tumbled from Guy’s lips.

Guy nearly experienced a heart failure at the first strike of the whip. He howled like a wounded animal. He felt unbearable pain slashing across his back. He could barely breathe. He was biting his lips and could barely repress his moans. His heart pounded harder and harder as more and more strikes landed on his back. A fog of black rage enveloped him, and his qualms of guilt, which he had felt of selling Isabella to Thornton only moments ago, perished as if they had never tugged at his heartstrings.

The whip came crashing down against Guy's back over and over again, and soon the prisoner couldn't tolerate pain in silence. Guy's soul was writhing in agony and his body writhed, too, as strong waves of fulgurating pain shot through him. His face was a personification of agony; creaking and crying sounds started coming out of his mouth. He screamed over and over again. And then Guy started sobbing like a small child: he wept from the agony of his punishment; he wept with fury at his own sister who was so zealous to make him suffer; he wept as he pictured how miserable he looked at that moment. Yet, Guy knew that he deserved that as he himself had tortured many men in the same way.

“How many lashes?” Isabella walked towards the table.

“I have already given Gisborne thirty lashes with the first whip and fifteen lashes with this new whip, Lady Isabella,” Blamire reported as he continued administering the punishment.

“That’s enough for today, or he might die here,” Isabella deduced.

Blamire stopped flogging. “Should we use a poker to punish him for his attempt to escape?”

A pleased Isabella noted, “He is already in a pretty bad shape, but I will have to invite a physician today in any case, so you can do it.”

“I will prepare everything.” Blamire threw the whip on the floor.

“Stop sobbing, Guy,” Isabella barked contemptuously as she watched Guy’s face contort in pain and caught a glimpse of his watery eyes. “You are a man of harsh reputation, aren’t you?”

“The pain was indeed unbearable, Lady Isabella. It is a normal reaction,” Blamire explained.

Guy knew that the torture would continue soon. He forced himself to keep as much dignity as he could. His mind drifted back to the moment when he had flogged Robin with the same whip.

Robin had begun to scream only after twenty lashes, and then he had moaned quietly as Guy had continued beating him. He had given Hood more than thirty lashes before Robin had passed out. Before Guy had ordered his guards to carry the outlaw to his cell, he had seen that Robin’s lips had been bloody, understanding that Hood had been biting his lips to prevent himself from screaming. In two days, Guy had flogged Robin again with the same whip, and he had reveled in the moment of his triumph when the King of Sherwood had started writhing in pain and moaning, in the end breaking into heartbreaking sobs. The next day, Robin Hood’s gang had saved their wounded leader from the dungeons.

Now Guy hated himself for what he had done to Robin and for his enjoyment of the younger man’s agonizing torments. That self-hatred gave him the strength to survive through his own punishment. He stopped sobbing and clenched his jaw, steeling himself against pain. He licked his lips, feeling a metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

“Gisborne, now we will finish our celebration,” Blamire hissed as the red-hot poker, which he held in his right hand, touched Guy’s toes. “You betrayed Prince John and Lord Vaisey, and now you are getting your punishment.”

“Oh God,” Guy whispered. He felt his toes and his entire body burning as the poker was laid against his flesh and was being pressed on it hard.

“I am going to do more, Gisborne,” Blamire warned, laughing.

Guy screamed as Blamire placed the poker to one of Guy’s ankles.

“Do you want to break me, Isabella?” Guy’s voice was muffled and thin, for he was obviously forcing himself to speak as he endured the pain. He bellowed with rage mingled with pain. His breathing was rapid and irregular as he was struggling to suppress nausea that rose in his throat. Every fiber of his terribly maltreated body ached, but his heart was hurting more.

“Guy, you broke me when you made me marry Thornton.” Isabella lowered her head, unable to look at Guy. “My life was ruined on my wedding night.”

Guy gritted his teeth. “And now you want me to pay for my sins, Isabella?”

She had some shame left to blush. “Yes, I do.”

“It was funny, huh?” Blamire growled as he put the poker on Guy’s back. “Now more fun.”

His flesh was burning, and Guy screamed like a madman; he would have tripled with pain if he hadn’t been tied to the table. Then Blamire quickly took the poker from Guy’s back. Now his back was both burnt and lacerated. Blamire brought the poker to both of Guy’s feet again, and the prisoner gave a new scream of pain as the instrument met his feet with a tremendous force. There were only pain and darkness in Guy’s world, and his mind was dazed. He was barely able to breathe, and he heard the frenzied beat his heart was drumming. Darkness thickened, and Guy passed out.

“We are finished, my lady,” Blamire said. “He has many burns and welts on his back and his feet.”

“Very well.” Isabella nodded, without enthusiasm. She persuaded herself that she liked Guy’s pain from the torture, but, in reality, she was disgusted, though it gave her some satisfaction.

Blamire glanced at Isabella. “Should we take him back to his cell?”

“Yes,” Isabella confirmed. “And fetch Blight to stitch the wound on his side and treat his back.”

Blamire snapped his fingers, and two guards entered the torture room. They released Guy’s limbs from chains and grabbed him with rough hands. Then Guy was carried to the cell and put on his stomach on a straw mattress as he couldn’t lie on his wounded back.

In the evening, Blamire appeared in the cell with Doctor Blight. Then Blamire quickly left.

Blight shivered in horror when he recognized the mighty Guy of Gisborne in the broken and unconscious man who lay miserable on a straw mattress. The sight of Guy’s back with countless welts and burns made Blight’s heart beat faster in fear. He unpacked bandages and requested guards that they bring a bowl of fresh water to clean Gisborne’s wounds.

Blight finished stitching the wound on his left side when Guy opened his eyes and groaned. The patient moved his arms, instinctively placing a hand on his hurt side; Blight brushed Guy’s hand away.

“Don’t do that, Sir Guy. It will only aggravate the situation,” Blight warned.

“Blight,” Guy muttered. “You?”

“Yes, Sir Guy,” the doctor replied in a tense voice. “I stitched the wound on your side, but it will hurt for several weeks more. Now I am going to clean… the welts on your back; it will hurt, but you will have to be patient.” He moistened the cloth and prepared to work.

“Thank you.” As he lay on his stomach, he didn’t see the physician’s face.

“I will also give you some medicine from pain.”

Doctor Blight started cleaning the injuries on Guy’s back, and Guy moaned in pain as the cloth touched his bloodied flesh. Assessing the degree of the damage, Blight struggled to understand how it was possible to sustain such injuries and stay alive. It took the doctor at least an hour to clean the welts.

“Sir Guy, you will have to lie on your stomach, and you should try not to move,” the old man recommended. “Otherwise, your wounds will open afresh.”

“It is fair. I also tortured many men,” Guy murmured. “Once I mercilessly tortured Robin Hood.”

“They tortured you, but they didn’t break you,” Blight said quietly as he leaned down to Guy.

“I am already broken.” Guy gave a hapless laugh.

“No, you are not broken,” the old man parried. “Your body was broken, but your will remained untouched. Just don’t let them break your will.”

Guy grabbed Blight’s hand. “Blight, please find my friend Allan. You remember him. He used to be my right-hand man when I was Vaisey’s master-at-arms.”

Doctor Blight took his hand away. “I am sorry, Sir Guy. I cannot help you.”

“Why? What have I done wrong by you?” Guy blinked back the tears, as if letting them fall would be an insult to his already afflicted pride.

“Nothing, Sir Guy. That dark-skinned man will kill my family.” The doctor’s voice was apologetic.

“Blamire… he is like Vaisey,” Guy murmured.

Blight rose to his feet and took several steps back, intending to leave. “I have to go, Sir Guy. I am sorry.” Then he walked out of the cell.

As the door was closed, Guy dissolved into tears, feeling as if he were forgotten by God. He had killed the sheriff and had avenged his misery and his mother’s disgrace, unknowingly setting himself up for torments in a living hell. Why did so many troubles befall Guy after his return to England? Did God decide to have him punished for his sins and wrongdoings? Was he destined to die in t _he underground hell_? Was he doomed to die at the hands of his own sister before someone could save him? Would he find absolution and freedom in death, or did he need to suffer more to _earn his redemption_? His body was shaking with long, racking sobs as all these questions were flying in his mind.

The next day, Guy sickened with a high fever. Doctor Blight came to his cell again, and he was as gentle as he could be while tending to Guy’s wounds. A delirious Guy tried to turn on his straw mattress, but the mobility of his body was restricted by his shackled legs and hands, for Isabella’s guards chained him to the wall. During next several weeks, Guy was somewhere between hell and earth, barely clinging to life. Yet, he was fighting to survive – he wasn’t entirely broken.

§§§

It was a late December afternoon. The sky was leaden, and the trees were bare, the last of their old leaves strewn in a dark golden tapestry under the hooves of the horse as Lady Megan Bennet of Attenborough rode along the forest paths in Sherwood Forest. She was riding at such a high speed that leaves were whirling beneath her horse, creating an airy trail behind her.

Since she had escaped before Queen Eleanor’s arrest, Megan lived in Nottingham, at her father’s manor. She also often went to Attenborough, her family’s family residence, and she liked Attenborough Hall very much as it was tucked into a landscape rich with woodlands and streams. In Attenborough, Megan could feel herself closer to nature, which she loved since childhood when she could have spent hours in the forests of Poitou, disappearing from the sight of her father and servants and, thus, wreaking chaos at court as everyone had begun to search for her.

In the past weeks, Megan traveled between Nottingham and Attenborough, desperately hoping to get some news about King Richard and find Sir Roger de Lacy. Attenborough was located not far from Nottingham, and she could go to the town very often. Yet, she still achieved nothing because there was no new information from the king, and she didn’t see de Lacy either. Every time Megan went to Nottingham and stayed there for days, she learned nothing; then, frustrated and scared, she returned to Attenborough Hall. The disappearance of King Richard and Roger de Lacy frightened her.

Megan came to Nottingham several days ago. Today she hoped to get some news about the king as she had a scheduled secret meeting with Lady Amicia de Beaumont, Prince John’s mistress and King Richard’s spy, who could have already learned something new about their liege. Megan and Amicia decided to meet in the woods for their own safety. Isabella of Gisborne knew Amicia quite well, and they couldn’t risk being discovered in Nottingham. Sherwood seemed to be one of the very few places where they could feel in safety and could talk.

Megan reached the clearing in the area of _the so-called bewitched woods_ , where very few people had the courage to go. She dismounted and looked around, holding the reins in her hands and leading her horse to the opposite side of the clearing. She stopped and listened attentively, but there was no sound beyond the rustling of leaves. She turned the horse in the direction she had come from and sought the path back, all the time listening to sounds around her, but she heard nothing that interested her.

Knowing that she could have lost her way if she had gone deeper into the forest, Megan again looked around, praying that she would find Amicia on the clearing. Once, her straining ears caught the distant sound of hooves, but she was unsure of the direction, and it didn’t come again. She gazed around again, and sighed deeply, trying to be patient and yet failing.

Megan cursed. The trees rose around her stood straight, like stately cathedral columns, as if they were arching to form barrel-vault canopies above her head. She turned her head towards the setting sun, and then a large smile illuminated her face. She saw the tall figure of a hooded woman, who was walking towards her. The newcomer was Lady Amicia de Beaumont.

“Amicia!” Megan cried out in a voice enriched with a deep affection. “Amicia! Amicia!” She smiled at the other lady, who also stopped and made an inviting gesture with her arms.

“Yes, Megan, I am here,” Amicia responded, laughing merrily.

Amicia removed her hood, and let the reins slip from her hand. Laughing, Megan ran to Amicia and grasped her in a fierce embrace, a torrent of Norman-French pouring from her lips between friendly kisses and greetings. Amicia, who never displayed emotions in public, shed some tears and clung to her friend, pressing her to her chest. Emotions overwhelmed them, and time stopped for a while.

They stood frozen in a tight embrace for a long time. Despite a ten-year age difference, they were very close friends and knew each other very well, having spent years together at Queen Eleanor’s court.

Finally, Amicia collected herself and drew back. She eyed Megan, and a large smile manifested on her face. “Still speaking in your mother’s native tongue, my dear? Haven’t forgotten Norman-French?” she said, her voice slightly tremulous, though she tried to joke. “When I learned that you are in Nottingham, I thought that your English father would never permit you to speak it.”

Megan shook her head, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I am talking to my father mainly in English, and often in Norman-French. He doesn’t reproach me as he himself used to speak this language every day throughout so many years.” She laughed with a melodic laugh. “I grew up in Aquitaine, and everything English is not what I like.”

Amicia embraced Megan briefly and then pulled back. “I am truly glad to see you, and I want to talk about ordinary things – about everything and nothing.” She smiled heartily. “I missed you so much, Meg.”

“I missed you, too, Amicia.”

“You look so beautiful and so gracious!” Amicia eyed her with a smile. “As always, you are dressed with great taste and in Aquitanian fashion.” Her tone was bright with reassurance. “Damp English weather hasn’t made you look worse.”

Megan was truly a beautiful young lady, with smooth alabaster skin, long and glossy hair of chestnut color, and expressive, almost shaped eyes of clear sea shallows. Her slender body was wrapped in a trendy cloak made of heavy, finest blue wool and the pelts of ermine. The upper part of her cloak was unfastened up to her breasts, and beneath she wore a gown of deep blue silk jeweled with diamonds and sapphires on a high lace collar. Megan was as breathtakingly lovely as one of the young wood nymphs who haunted tangled wild forests in ancient myths.

“Of course, I am the best. I am beautiful and gracious, like a queen.” Megan gave a casual laugh. “And you, my dear Amicia, are definitely lovely too.”

“As usual, no modesty at all,” Amicia retorted, in a voice that was soft but filled with knowing. “And thank you for your compliment.”

“Always welcome, my dear.”

Amicia smirked. “So this is the bewitched part of Sherwood Forest?”

“It seems so. My father offered to have secret meetings with anyone only here.”

“Because this place is damned and bewitched?”

“Exactly.” Megan winked at the older woman. “Isn’t it an ideal place for a secret meeting?”

Amicia winked back. “Very enigmatic.”

The bewitched woods, a large part of Sherwood in the outer circle, were a strange place, located in the depths of the woods. The people of Nottinghamshire believed that there were evil spirits there. The bewitched place was often called the cursed woods. In reality, it was simply the most remote and dangerous part of the forest, and if a traveler didn’t know the area, he could easily lose his way there and could even die there before help arrived and, probably, even without being discovered at all.

Megan was in a state of exaltation, feeling herself like a person intoxicated with adorable emotions. She felt as if she were a great spy and a conspirator who was meeting with her partner in an enigmatic place to decide the fates of nations and empires. “This is an interesting place, Amicia! I hope that you have found this place without any problems,” she said after a small pause.

Amicia nodded. “I found the bewitched woods very easily.”

Megan looked at her friend incredulously. “How did you do that? My father showed me this place three times before I remembered the way here.”

“I have my own ways, Meg.”

“How did you do that?”

“Have you forgotten that Robin of Locksley was my younger brother’s best friend?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Amicia looked wistful. “After Robin and Robert had finished their knighthood training in Poitiers, Robin invited us to visit his estates in Huntingdon and in Locksley. We spent the autumn here; then my husband demanded that I return to Aquitaine. I left Locksley, but Robert stayed there for longer,” she continued in a slightly trembling tone. “Robin took us to the bewitched woods, saying that it is the most dreadful part of Sherwood. We laughed at rumors about the bewitched woods. We often came here.” She paused, her eyes turning languid. “Roger of Stoke was with us at that time, but now he is dead.”

“So many people died,” Megan said sorrowfully.

“Yes, but life goes on,” Amicia replied sadly.

“And you remembered the path here, didn’t you?”

“Exactly, Meg. That’s why I found this place so quickly today.”

 “Oh, I understand.”

They were silent for a while, remembering those whom they knew and who were no longer alive.

“Well, I have brought you something from London. You will surely like it.” Amicia extracted a leather purse from the pocket of her cloak. Inside there was a magnificent necklace made out of sapphires and gold flowers. “I asked Prince John’s jeweler to make this necklace for you.”

Megan took the necklace into her arms. “It is a piece of striking beauty!” She kissed her friend. “Thank you, darling! Thank you so much! God save me from annoying suitors if I come to Prince John’s court.”

“Megan, you don’t need to go to the prince’s court. Better go back to Aquitaine.”

“I understand,” Megan replied with sympathy; she put the purse with the necklace into the inner pocket of her cloak. “You have to pretend that you hate King Richard and want Prince John to become King of England. It is very difficult to hide our true allegiances.”

“It is really terrible!” Amicia exclaimed. “You cannot imagine how much I miss a company of normal people since I became the prince’s mistress.” She looked disgusted. “I have to spend much time trying to please the prince in a bed, enduring his lecherous pranks and tricks. I always have to listen how much he hates King Richard and Queen Eleanor and how he wants Richard dead.”

“My heart is with you, my dear. I am shocked that the prince made you his lover.”

“You know that I have been Richard’s personal spy for a long time. The only way to spy on Prince John after King Richard’s departure to the Holy Land was to become his mistress.”

Megan gave Amicia a long, searching look. “And what about King Richard?” Megan asked cautiously. “I suppose your feelings for our king haven’t changed yet, have they?”

“I still love Richard. He is the love of my life,” she confessed. “I had many lovers, but Richard is my only true love.”

“I remember how much you loved him. You were besotted with him.”

Amicia sighed. “This is the only reason I am spying on John… and sleep with him.”

“You can be with the king again after his return.”

Amicia looked sad, her eyes sparkled with shimmering tears. “I doubt that it would happen,” she said sadly. “I even don’t know whether or not Richard is alive. Maybe he is already dead.”

Megan’s face was horrified. “What happened? Do you have any news about King Richard?”

“I don’t have good news,” Amicia said in a hollow voice. “I know nothing about the king.”

Megan gaped at her friend, her agitation evident in her jerky breathing. “Amicia, please tell me what happened. I understand absolutely nothing.”

“Oh, it is a long story, Meg.”

“Well, we have time.”

Amicia de Beaumont averted her eyes. She didn’t speak for a while. She didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t a woman who could have been scared by evil gossip, loss of money, disgrace, poverty, betrayal, and even death, but there was one thing that could render her dumb and instill a feeling of mortal dread into her heart – it was King Richard’s death. She feared that her words could be true. She was extremely worried, although she tried to keep her fears and insecurities to herself.

“ _King Richard disappeared on the way from the Holy Land,_ ” Amicia said hoarsely, still looking somewhere into the woods. “He sailed from Acre and was lost somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea. He must have already been home. He must have arrived in Aquitaine several weeks ago.”

A shocked Megan inquired in a shaking voice, “And where can the king be?”

Amicia squeezed her eyes shut tightly. “ _I fear Richard is dead_ ,” she said in a cracking voice. Her grief was worse than a physical pain at her core. “I don’t know what we all will do if the king is dead.”

Megan approached her and tugged at the sleeve of Amicia’s cloak. As she had to travel from London to meet Megan and had to make only some stops in inns on the road to Nottingham, Amicia wore only simple travel clothes: a warm winter cloak and a plain pale green gown beneath.

Tears filled Megan’s eyes. “Oh, no! The king cannot be dead!”

Amicia turned her gaze at Megan; she had regained her composure. “Prince John has done something to Richard. I don’t know what it is, but, this time, it is not a regicide attempt.”

“I want to be optimistic,” Megan said grimly. “I don’t believe that it is true.”

“John is very secretive and cautious, but he is in a very elevated mood in the last few weeks,” Amicia said sorrowfully, trying to keep her face neutral. Yet, her cheek muscle twitched. “Something very serious is going on. John is planning his own coronation in London. Imagine what it can mean!”

“Oh, it would be a disaster!” Megan put a hand on her mouth. “If Prince John ascends the throne, I fear the Angevin Empire will lose the continental territories to King Philippe of France. The people will suffer, and the nation will live in oppression and tyranny.”

“Indeed, everything will change dramatically, in the worst possible ways,” Amicia replied, her tone calm and her expression guarded. She was more worried about Richard than about England.

“And Queen Eleanor is under arrest at Pontefract Castle.” Megan threw her hands up in frustration. “Queen Eleanor told me to find Sir Roger de Lacy, thinking he can help us to release her and give us information about the king. But I cannot do that because de Lacy disappeared.”

“I saw Roger de Lacy several days ago,” Amicia informed.

“Where is this cheeky rogue now?” Megan clenched her fists. “The Queen Mother is imprisoned at de Lacy’s castle. I begin to think that de Lacy became a traitor.”

“Roger is not a traitor,” Amicia contradicted. “He was arrested at Prince John’s order.”

“Oh, my God!” a shocked Megan exclaimed. “You must be joking!”

“No, I am not joking.”

“Impossible! Impossible!”

Amicia elucidated, “It is true, Meg. Prince John has two new prisoners – Sir Roger de Lacy and Lady Marian of Knighton. They are kept prisoners in the Tower of London, but they are locked in luxurious rooms in the guests’ quarters. They are guarded by men from Prince John’s Elite Guard.”

Megan looked at her friend with troubled eyes. “Why are Sir Roger de Lacy and Lady Marian of Knighton are the prince’s prisoners?”

“Roger de Lacy quarreled with Prince John’s loyal men, who, of course, are traitors. I met Roger once, and he told me what happened in Acre and what he did later,” Amicia said.

Megan frowned. “Here, in Nottingham, I have heard a lot about Lady Marian. People say that she is Robin of Locksley’s former betrothed.”

“Lady Marian is kept prisoner because Prince John passionately wishes to marry her off to the Earl of Buckingham. It seems that she is a reluctant bride.”

Megan blinked, confused. “But Lady Marian is Guy of Gisborne’s wife.”

“Gisborne is a free man now,” Amicia remarked with a smile of wry pride.

“How is that possible?”

Amicia chuckled. “It is a delicate and amusing situation. Sir Edward of Knighton, Lady Marian’s father, had arranged a betrothal for his daughter to Lord Buckingham. The betrothal wasn’t dissolved, but the lady married Guy,” she explained hastily. “Prince John appealed to the Archbishop of Canterbury to have Guy’s marriage to Lady Marian annulled on the grounds of the pre-contract with the Earl of Buckingham. The marriage was declared null and void a week ago.”

“But why does Prince John need that?”

Amicia’s face twisted in repugnance for a moment. “The Earl of Buckingham is licking Prince John’s boots with such a great pleasure that one may think he is eating sweet pancakes. He is the prince’s puppet and favorite. He is very loyal to John,” she elaborated, feeling her heart clench in her breast as a rush of pity for Marian rushed through her. “Prince John is more than happy to please his dear Buckingham, who seems to be as charmed by Lady Marian as Guy and Robin once were.”

“Poor Lady Marian!” Megan shook her head. “Is she again betrothed?”

“Yes. Now Lady Marian of Knighton is officially betrothed to Buckingham. It seems that it is Lady Marian’s fourth or fifth betrothal.”

Megan gave her friend a dark look, as if she thought she was deliberately laughing at the situation. “Why are you laughing, Amicia? Don’t you pity Lady Marian?”

“I do pity her, Meg, but I cannot say that I like her.”

“Why?”

“Lady Marian was twice betrothed to Robin of Locksley,” Amicia added.

“Oh my Lord,” Megan breathed every word. “I am shocked.”

“She is an unusual woman, but I don’t have an objective opinion about her,” Amicia continued, her mind drifting off from de Lacy to Marian whom she had also seen at court. “She left Robin twice – when Robin went to the Holy Land and when she married Guy.”

Megan nodded in understanding. “Sir Robin should have been hurt a lot!” Her expression was somewhat distant as her mind wandered to the days of her early youth in Poitiers. “He was a brilliant and attractive young man with numerous love affairs. When I saw him at court, I resented him a little bit when he flirted and charmed the queen’s ladies, thinking of himself as God's gift to women.”

Amicia frowned. “I agree that Robin was one of the most arrogant men I have ever met; he was like my brother.” She sighed. “Oh, for goodness sake, you really think so about Robin’s attitude to women? You are so wrong!”

“I know, Amicia. I understood Sir Robin much better after I watched him for a while – that was a masquerade of real emotions on his part.”

“This time, you are right.”

“Oh, yes, I am,” Megan retorted with a smile.

“Robin loved Lady Marian,” Amicia changed the subject. “He really did love her, and she broke his heart.” A grimace crossed her face. “I know that she caused Robin a great pain when she threw an engagement ring right in his face when he announced his decision to go to the Holy Land. She also married Guy before breaking her engagement to Robin.”

Megan frowned. “You want to tell me that Lady Marian deceived Sir Robin and Sir Guy.”

“It was a sort of deceit,” Amicia agreed. “But I believe that it was more due to her confusion with her feelings. She was trapped between the two such different and such dashing men.”

Megan’s heart constricted with apprehension. “It means that both Robin of Locksley and Guy of Gisborne suffered because of her actions.”

“Yes. I cannot like this lady, though I am impressed by her biography.”

“Marriage shouldn’t be biased on lies,” Megan declared. “Such marriages are doomed to become loveless and probably even wretched.”

Amicia smiled with a smile of a tender pride. “No wiser words can be spoken.”

Megan understood many things many other girls either ignored or didn’t care to think of. Amicia was proud of Megan and loved her for who she was – an honest, fiery, strong, passionate, and beautiful lady, yet naïve and vulnerable, with strong convictions and moral core values.

“Amicia, tell me what happened to Roger de Lacy.”

“Everything is bad, Megan,” Amicia said in a grave tone, after a long pause. “Roger de Lacy arrived in Nottingham before you came here. Roger was extremely angry, as well as very foolish. He quarreled with Vaisey and accused him of treason Robin’s murder. Then he headed to Tickhill.”

Megan shook her head disapprovingly. “That was an act of reckless arrogance in the extreme. The man’s hellish temper will kill him one day.”

“Roger was greatly affected by Robin’s death,” Amicia explained, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Roger and Robin were close friends. Roger grieved over his friend’s death so much that his most ardent desire was to deal with Vaisey.” She sighed. “His temper played a bad joke with him. He told me that he had taken an oath of vengeance on the day of Robin’s demise.”

“And look what Prince John did to him!”

“Roger de Lacy proclaimed that he would take his revenge against those who are implicated into the plots against the king,” Amicia said grimly. “At Tickhill, Roger lost his temper and accused the castellan of treason, arrested him, and had him hanged. One of the castellan’s servants attempted to take his master’s body for a decent burial.”

“And what did de Lacy do?”

A laugh stifled in Amicia’s throat. “In spite of his general intelligence and impeccable education, Roger may be an intemperate idiot. He said that the castellan was a traitor and that traitors must never be buried. Then he ordered to arrest all guards and servants and hang them as well.”

“He acted cruelly and foolishly.”

“Yes.”

A horror-struck Megan opined, “I thought that de Lacy was cleverer. He should be happy that he is still alive and hasn’t been stripped of his titles.”

“Only John’s deep affection for de Lacy, which exists in spite of Roger’s staunch loyalty to Richard, prevents John from having Roger executed,” Amicia continued. “John came with a troop of soldiers and took some of de Lacy’s castles, naming them his own strongholds. Roger was arrested, but he wasn’t stripped of his titles and lands, though he no longer has his freedom.”

“Wait, Amicia!”

“What?”   

“Roger de Lacy was a temporary overlord of Locksley, in Sir Robin’s absence. But if he is under arrest, then who manages Sir Robin’s estates?”

“Roger is still considered an overlord of Locksley, though he is a prisoner.”

“I see.”

“There is only some good news,” Amicia said in a voice brittle with control and holding a trace of earlier tears. “Lady Melisende is with child.”

“That is great!” Megan said cheerfully. “Prince John mentioned that.”

Amicia sighed. “The child will continue the Huntingdon line.”

Megan looked sad. “Poor Lady Melisende! How is she feeling now?”

“She hasn’t delivered yet. But I think it will happen soon,” Amicia stated.

“I have always been very fond of her. She is an extraordinary lady.”

“Yes, she is.”

“And her child will never know his father,” Megan said sorrowfully.

“This is a great tragedy! Many years ago, Robin and I had an affair, nothing serious. He also was my friend and my brother’s best friend.”

Then Amicia told her friend the tragic tale about the events in Acre, which had learned from Roger de Lacy. The wind was bitterly cold and the puddles bore diamond patterns of ice. It was cold, very cold in the forest. Yet, they were absorbed in their conversation, as if they didn’t feel cold.

Megan was utterly shocked, shaking her head in disbelief. “Oh my God! Poor Sir Robin!” Then her eyes went wide. “Wait, Amicia! Wait! Lord Vaisey murdered Sir Robin, not Gisborne?”

“Exactly.”

“But the prince declared that Sir Guy of Gisborne killed Sir Robin.” Megan wrapped her cloak tighter around her for extra warmth against the cold; the winter chill was seeping into her bones.

“Prince John’s proclamations are false.” Amicia sighed.

Megan arched a brow. “Oh, interesting,” she muttered. “Really interesting.”

During the time she had spent in Nottingham, Lady Megan Bennet discovered that the small town was worse than any other place where she had ever lived in. She had never seen so many unhappy, anguished faces of townspeople, their eyes full of overpowering fear and mortal terror. It was clear that the people of Nottingham had been oppressed and terrorized by Vaisey for years. Nobody mourned for Vaisey – people rejoiced and cursed the old sheriff, wishing him to burn in hellfire. Now Lady Isabella of Gisborne, the new Sheriff of Nottingham, pledged to make the people’s lives more comfortable and keep an order in the town.

After Vaisey’s unexpected murder, Nottingham exploded with rumors about Sir Guy of Gisborne. Megan heard quite a lot about the sheriff’s villainous former henchman, and neither of those things pleased her. Guy was called _a murderer, a demon, and the devil’s servant._ It was said that Vaisey and Gisborne wore only black colors because they had sold their souls to the devil a long time ago, and the obligation to wear black was a sign of their allegiance to the gods of the underworld. Vaisey and Guy were called the devil and his son, the executioner and his pupil. Guy was rumored to have been even Vaisey’s lover as the sheriff had been suspected of harboring sinful attraction for men.

Somehow, Guy stirred much more interest in Megan’s young heart than Robin Hood could have ever done. Megan considered Robin a handsome young man, heroic and brave, but too arrogant and full of himself for her liking, with a vain nature and head full of illusions about real life. She admired and respected Robin, but she could have never fallen in love with him as deeply as many other young girls had. Robin was a great man and an iconic figure in the Holy Land, in England, and in the Angevin Empire, but Megan didn’t fell for him even in the wake of his tremendous popularity.

Guy of Gisborne was a dark and mysterious legend. He was an enigmatic man in black leather in Megan’s mind. If Robin Hood was a selfless and heroic savior of England, King Richard, and the people, Guy typified everything the legendary outlaw of Sherwood had fought against. Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne were both legends – a light legend of a hero and a dark, very dark legend of an utter villain. They were said to be mortal enemies, and the people hated Guy for murdering their beloved hero.

In Nottingham, Megan heard a great deal about the atrocities and villainies Guy had committed. The more she listened to gossip, the more she felt herself closer to a mighty mystery, feeling as if it were the only mystery that eluded her. Gisborne seemed to be so evil and so dark, but that darkness and enigma around his personality interested her in spite of the fact that she didn’t know the man in person. And yet, the bare sound of Guy’s name made her heart pound harder, and Megan began to dream, her mind creating the pictures of the dark handsome knight on the black stallion riding through the forest and chasing after Robin Hood and his gang.

“And tragic,” Amicia added, feeling the chill of the night numbing her.

Megan swallowed hard. “And where is Sir Guy of Gisborne now?”

Drawing the frozen air into her lungs, Amicia felt the cold in her heart that was like a knife and seized her breath, but it was exhilarating to keep silent as well. She feared that Guy had already been dead. She no longer loved him, but she was worried about him. “I think that Prince John and Lady Isabella of Gisborne arrested Gisborne. It was convenient for them to accuse Guy of Robin’s murder and cast the blame on Guy. Guy appeared in Nottingham, heard the proclamation, and then he killed the sheriff. Of course, his enemies used their chance to arrest him.”

“But Guy of Gisborne is a villain. I have heard so many bad things about him.”

“Don’t believe everything that you hear. Guy is a good man; he was just misguided.”

Megan stared at her, her blue eyes twinkling with curiosity. “How do you know that?”

“Guy was my first love,” a wistful Amicia confessed. “I loved Guy before I fell in love with Richard. I knew Guy long before he returned to Nottingham, although he was born here.”

“Oh,” Megan breathed. “Yeah, the world is so small.”

“Oh, yes, yes. It is very small.”

“Tell me what kind of a man Gisborne is.”

Amicia eyed her friend. “Have you not heard all these absurd tales about him?”

The young lady sniffed. “Sure, and many tales are so dark that I am shuddering in horror.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “But who is to say what the truth is? I hear so many dreadful and ridiculous tales about Guy of Gisborne! Some people say that Gisborne eats children on a breakfast, a lunch, and a dinner. I hear that he demands children’s heads to be brought to him on a silver tray.”

“Do these stories horrify you, my blue-eyed beauty?”

“Of course, not.” Megan laughed merrily. “It seems that Gisborne is very evil. And yet a man cannot be as wretched and sneaky as gossipers say if he killed Sheriff Vaisey.” She laughed again. “And do you really think that something may horrify me? Or maybe you think that I should find consolation in wine?” She chuckled. “I am fearless! I am not afraid of Gisborne!”

“I have no doubt that you are a fearless creature, my dear,” Amicia retorted, a wry smile curving her lips. “I think you would have liked Guy.”

“Who knows?” Megan shrugged.

“Did you hear something else about him?”

Megan looked thoughtful. “I have also heard that Gisborne is deadly with a sword.”

“Yes, he is,” Amicia confirmed. “But my brother is better.”

“Hah!” Megan grumbled. “Do you think that I have forgotten that Robert de Beaumont is considered the best swordsman in Christendom after King Richard himself? You always remind me of that!”

“I am so proud of Robert!” Amicia flashed a smile.

“Well, I have heard many more things about Gisborne,” Megan continued. “A week ago, I met a man in the market, and he said that Gisborne finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel and murdered Vaisey.” She smiled. “A few others told me that Gisborne may be loyal, although to a wrong person.”

“In my opinion, Guy murdered the sheriff because he realized that had brutalized him and had destroyed his life,” Amicia opined. “I told Guy years ago that it would happen if he chose to stay with Vaisey, but he didn’t listen to me.”

“And now Gisborne is lost – either arrested or dead.” Megan felt more anxious than she cared to admit, but she was guarding her emotions well. Yet, the thought of Gisborne’s death was disturbing.

“I sincerely hope that Guy is alive.”

“Could Prince John have him executed?”

Amicia shook her head. “I don’t think so, Meg. Most likely, Lady Isabella is holding Guy in the dungeons. If Guy had already been executed, Prince John would have made a spectacle out of his death.” Her expression hardened, her facial muscles tensed; a sense of worry was crawling into her heart. “Only God knows what Isabella could be doing to Guy in the dungeons.”

“Guy of Gisborne is Lady Isabella’s brother!”

“I think she hates him.”

“Why?”

“They have their differences, Meg.”

Megan looked over at Amicia who had an air of cosmic sadness about her. Her friend obviously knew about the festering sores on the hearts of the Gisborne siblings, but she was reluctant to talk. It was not her business, Megan told herself. “Fine, Amicia. I won’t ask anything.”

§§§

Lady Megan Bennet surveyed the clearing where they stood. The mist was thickening steadily, and there was kind of a terrific dreamlike quality to it. She liked the picture of the leaves drooping on bare trees in tints of orange, ochre, and yellow. For a moment, she thought that she could imagine Guy of Gisborne standing next to her, but then she scolded herself and called herself a fool. Nonetheless, she was intrigued, really intrigued with the dark knight, and an aura of enthusiastic energy, actuating her to learn more about him, surrounded her, like a pulsing mist.

“I do pity Gisborne,” Megan said sadly, and her heart skipped a beat at the thought that the man could have been killed at the orders of his own sister.

“Nothing would have stopped me from saving Guy if I had known where they are keeping him,” Amicia said with passion. “I am so worried about Guy. I don’t want him dead.” She dragged a deep breath, the cold air freezing her inside and out. “De Lacy told me that King Richard had pardoned Guy. It is a great pity that Guy was so stupid and came back to Nottingham before the king’s return.”

Megan stared at her in disbelief. “King Richard pardoned him?”

“Yes, he did.”

“It seems that even our brave King Richard saw some value in the dark demon of Nottingham,” Megan said with a laugh. “It means that he is not as wretched as everyone says. Then I will hold Gisborne in my prayers, for someone has to pray for his atonement and survival if he is in such a great trouble.”

Amicia smiled. “Well, you may try. Maybe it will help Guy.”

Megan made a helpless gesture, and a mischievous glint entered her eyes. “Maybe God shall answer my prayers and show Gisborne a right way to absolution.”

“Guy lost even his wife,” Amicia added.

Megan let out a chuckle on her rosy lips. “Fate must be mocking Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne as Robin Hood’s childhood sweetheart stood between these two men.”

“Meg, your aim is deadly. Fate indeed played a cruel joke with Robin and Guy.”

“Oh, Gisborne intrigues me!” Megan cried out, her cheeks flushing. “What a man! An utter villain and a misguided heart! He must be a hero of a tragedy or of a dark drama!”

“Interested in Guy?” Amicia’s eyes twinkled.

“I am merely curious.” Megan’s voice held a note of caution.

“Ah, Meg, Meg!” Amicia gave her a mocking grin.

Megan’s cheeks grew rosy. “And why not if he seems to be such a dark legend?”

Amicia smiled mysteriously. “As I said, Guy is no longer a married man.”

“Poor man,” Megan said with concern. “He lost even his wife to another Black Knight.”

“I think it is one of the best things that could happen to Guy.”

“Why?”

“Meg, I am not relishing in Guy’s unhappiness,” Amicia assured her. “I just think that when two people have such a story like Guy and Marian have, nothing good comes out of that.”

“On a serious note, what are we going to do now, Amicia?”

“I will try to find out what Prince John did to King Richard,” Amicia retorted. “Megan, you should try to be close to Lady Isabella. She is one of the Black Knights, and she is also John’s mistress.”

“You think Isabella can be useful to us?”

“Naturally,” Amicia stated. “Meg, Lady Isabella has enthralled Prince John. John sleeps with me only because Isabella wanted him to make her the Sheriff of Nottingham after Vaisey’s death. This woman doesn’t want to live at court; otherwise, she would have replaced even me in the prince’s bed.”

“I got the point,” Megan’s voice resonated in the cold air. “Lady Isabella may know what happened to King Richard. If Prince John is so secretive even with you, Amicia, then it means that he did something outrageously bold and extremely risky. John is waiting, and he is being overcautious.”

“You have to become close with Isabella of Gisborne, my dear.”

“I will also do everything I can,” Megan pledged. “We must save King Richard and England. We must save the Queen Mother.” Her voice gained depth and authority. “These power-hungry men, the Black Knights, will kill our king if we don’t save him.”

“It is such a pity that Robin is dead. He and my brother would have found the king together.”

Megan sighed frustratedly. “But he is not a part of this world.”

“Yes, he is in a better place, Meg.”

“God will help us. We will do something. We will find the king.”

Amicia shook her head. “I will be spying in London, and you will be gathering information here, in Nottingham. We should always be in touch.”

“Yes, Amicia. We must coordinate our efforts to find the king.”

“My brother, my beloved Robert, traveled to Cyprus where King Richard was last seen. I hope that he would be able to bring some heartening news to us.”

“I hope so, with all my heart.”

“And so do I.”

Megan looked at the sky that was almost dark now; she could also see the red setting sun behind the clouds. “You need to leave. The sun has almost set.”

Amicia nodded. “Indeed. It is getting darker, and I need more time to get to a nearby inn, of course, not in Nottingham.”

Amicia strode towards her horse that stood riderless in the middle of the clearing. She hopped into the saddle with impressive adroitness. The young golden-chestnut mare shied and almost unseated her, but she clung skillfully to the reins; after a few fraught moments, managed to bring the horse under control.

“Great horse,” Meg whispered in adoration.

Megan grinned. “This is a prized stud.”

“Let me guess. It is Prince John’s gift, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” Amicia nodded, looking down at Megan. “Prince John has a terrible taste in wines. He drinks vinegar, as Robin of Locksley often said, or water from a pond, as my brother mocks him.” She arched a brow, smiling. “And yet, John has an excellent taste in horses.”

“Well, the prince must be talented in something else, apart from scheming and backstabbing.”

“Very true.” Prince John’s mistress stroked the mane of her horse. “I will ride all night if there is no rain tonight. In the morning, I will make a stop, and then I will ride again throughout the day to get to London as soon as possible.”

“Just be careful, Amicia.”

“I will be careful on the way back to London. The major danger is not somewhere in my journey, but in Prince John’s methods to usurp the throne,” Amicia said almost gravely.

“That’s true, Amicia.”

“Megan, I beseech you to be very careful. You will be putting yourself in danger. I know that you want to save the king and the queen, but don’t go off the deep end and always look before leaping into unfamiliar waters.”

“I will be fine, I promise,” Megan agreed, smiling. She was again shivering with cold.

Amicia smiled nervously. “Take care of yourself,” she said, lightly kicking her horse so it began to trot away. “And if you somehow learn something about Gisborne, please let me know.”

Megan felt her cheeks blushing. “I will try to find out about him. I promise.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Amicia pulled the reins as tight as she could. “Be safe.” She spurred on her horse and rode off, her cloak swirling in the air and revealing a flash of her vivid gown.

Megan watched Amicia’s retreating figure until the chestnut stallion vanished in the distance. Dusk had already fallen over Nottingham and Sherwood, the air was chilled by an evening frost. She shivered in cold and rubbed her arms that seemed stiff; she had only one desire – to return to the warmth of her house in Nottingham. Now, when her mind wasn’t occupied, Megan began to feel that she was freezing.

She hated the late autumn time in England. In Aquitaine, the climate was mild during the winter and autumn months, some days even warm and sunny, and the summer was pleasantly warm and not too hot. She would have left behind the fog and darkness of the English winter and returned to the continent with a great pleasure if she had known that King Richard was alright and his mistress, Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, was released

Megan slowly walked to her stallion that stood in the other part of the clearing, as if it were waiting for her. The stallion had the gold champagne body color, light skin, and gorgeous ivory mane and tail. In Aquitaine, Queen Eleanor had a wide range of great horses, studs and does, and she had become quite an expert in horse breeding. She rejoiced when she had inspected her father’s stables in Attenborough, which turned out to be not worse than the royal stables in Poitiers.

Megan mounted and rode off. Although she kept her focus in front of her, she could feel the presence of another  – she wasn’t alone on the clearing. She tightened the reins and turned her head, her eyes frantically wandering around. At first, she heard nothing special; there were only natural sounds of woodland around, which were muffled in the vastness of the woods. Then someone screamed.

Her expression was the one of furious incredulity as she watched an unknown man trying to draw in the reins to stop his horse, leaning back in his saddle, but failing to get control over the frightened animal. The man’s horse struck the trunk of a tree and stumbled. Megan laughed, thinking that the man might have been like a feather on horseback if he had flung so easily from the saddle to the ground. By a miracle, the man’s horse kept its feet, and staggered to a halt.

Megan rode towards the unfortunate man who lay shocked, unable to move. Her eyes took in his warm cloak of dark brown twill; his clothes were expensive but very dirty. She dismounted and stalked towards him; as she walked, she drew in a faint aroma of body sweat, which set her uneasy.

“How are you?” Megan said, and then she heard him swear softly under his breath. “Can you sit up?”

“Thank you, lass. I am alright.” The man thanked her with a crooked smile. “Allan, my name is Allan.”

Megan’s face was a grimace of displeasure for a short moment. “I am not your lass, you swine!”

Allan eyed her, smiling at her with an irritating wry a smile. He pondered for a moment and then, with a curt nod, spoke. “No, you are not a village girl. You are a lady.”

“Exactly,” Megan retorted.

Allan rose to his feet, swaying a little. “Well, that was quite an experience.”

“It seems that you are not seriously injured,” she observed.

“I am gonna say I am a lucky man.”

With a look of relief on her face, Megan smiled at him, but then her eyes darkened with anger. “What were you doing here, in the bewitched woods?”

Allan rubbed a hand thoughtfully across his chin. "Actually, I have been leaving in the forest for years.”

“Why are you living here?” Megan asked curiously.

“Why are you so curious?” Allan retorted. “And what are you doing in the depths of Sherwood?”

Megan raised her chin, her eyes blazing with anger. “It is not your deal, you fool.”

He laughed at her. “You are very spirited, my lady.”

“Did you follow me in the forest? Did you eavesdrop? Why are you here now?” Megan asked, her heart pounding with fear that he could have possibly overheard her conversation with Amicia.

Allan chuckled, his blue eyes sparkling. “Yeah, you are a talkative lady. We have just met, and you are already asking me so many questions!”

“Answer me,” she demanded.

“I didn’t eavesdrop. And I had no idea that you weren’t alone here.” He eyed her suspiciously. “It is not a very convenient place for a nice little rendezvous, my lady. If I were in your shoes, I would consider meeting with your lover in an inn next time.”

A rabid Megan raged, “Damn you! You are a ruffian!”

Megan quickly hopped back on her horse. She pulled the reins and galloped down the slope, mud churning beneath the hooves, Allan’s laugh bidding her his farewell. She took the path that twisted, turned, and meandered, but she knew where she was going as she navigated her way, using various landmarks on trees and clearings, were obvious only to her. She didn’t venture to try any other path.

Someone’s heavy footsteps came from the depths of the woods, and Little John emerged on the clearing. “Allan, what are you doing here?” he asked, looking at the younger man with narrowed eyes.

Allan turned his gaze at John. “Hey, mate, I was riding through the forest on the horse I took from the stables in Locksley.” He eyes himself. “Look what happened to me? The horse bolted and ran away.”

“We don’t need horses from Locksley, Allan.”

Allan touched the muddy sleeve of his cloak. “Look, John, I wanted to keep the horse in the camp, for our convenience. We must have means of transportation in case the location of the camp is  detected and guards come to take us.”

“I don’t know what worse may happen to us.” John settled himself against the trunk of a tree. “King Richard is still away. Marian disappeared. Gisborne was captured. Much left us after Gisborne’s arrest.”

“I expected nothing else from Much after his disgusting behavior during our journey from Acre.”

John smiled wistfully at the thought of Much, whom he already missed a lot. “At least Much went to find Eve! He nearly lost his sanity after Robin’s death, and it is for the better that he is with the woman he loves. He needs her love and support so much, and I believe that only Eve can help him survive!” A dark shadow crossed his features. “I still haven’t found Alice and my son.”

“Much should have helped us to free Guy and find Marian, but he abandoned us.”

John scowled at him. “Allan, you should think before you start talking.”

“What did I say that is not true?”

“We checked the dungeons twice before Much left us,” John defended the former manservant. “I can understand Much. I don’t pity Gisborne because he deserves to be punished for his crimes. If Isabella of Gisborne punishes her own brother instead of King Richard, I don’t mind.”

“You are so unfair to Guy.” Allan's sadness was creeping into his voice. “Guy killed the sheriff for King Richard, for England, for Robin, for himself, for all of us. But before Vaisey truly went to hell, the sheriff and Prince John made everyone believe that it was Guy who murdered Robin.”

John grunted in agreement and said, “I agree that it is unfair. But Gisborne is guilty of so many crimes that he deserves the worst.”

"Oh, sweet Jesus!" Allan groaned, shaking his head in frustration. “Stop being so damn stubborn and understand that _some villains are not as bad as you think. Some bad boys have a heart_!”

Little John nervously wrung his hands as every mention of Gisborne and this man’s supposed goodness sent him to a zone of huge discomfort. “Gisborne surprised me that he is actually more tolerable than I thought of him before, but I still don’t like him; I don’t care for him.”

Allan gave him a pointed look. “But Guy is not a villain – he is a good man! He killed the sheriff, and it proves that he is done with the past!” He turned around and walked away, irritated.

“Where are you going?” John asked.

“Back to the camp,” Allan said shortly.

They walked to the outlaws’ camp in silence. Allan didn’t want to talk to Little John about Guy; all their conversations brought only disappointment to Allan as the big man stubbornly refused to admit that he had misjudged Guy. He wanted to punch John on the head and tell him how wrong he was in his conclusions about Guy, but he knew it wouldn't make any difference.

Allan’s mood was foul, and it seemed that nothing could dissipate it. Although no official announcement was made, Allan heard rumors that Gisborne had been arrested by the prince’s men and had been charged with the murder of Sheriff Vaisey, and Allan wasn’t astonished at all. Marian had disappeared, and, at first, nothing was known about her whereabouts. Later Allan heard that Prince John had taken Marian to London with his party for an unknown reason.

Given the turbulence in Nottingham, neither Much nor Allan tried to reclaim their lands. Much didn’t even try to get the lodge of Bonchurch and decided to wait. Allan followed Much’s strategy and didn’t come to Rochdale in order to take over the lands his father had owned years ago. Instead, they retired to the forest and waited patiently for the king’s safe return. They realized that they had committed a grievous mistake when they had returned to Nottingham despite King Richard’s warning to stay away from the Black Knights until the lion’s return.

Much disappointed Allan as the man left them after two unsuccessful attempts to find and save Guy when they had gone to the dungeons in disguise, but there was no trace of Guy. Unfortunately, they didn’t know that Guy was kept in the underground hell – the dungeons below the castle, which could be entered exclusively through a sophisticated system of underground tunnels and cellars. Although Allan had once been Guy’s right-hand man and had been a member of the inner sanctum, Guy hadn’t shared with him all of Vaisey’s projects and plans; so he didn’t know many of Vaisey’s secrets.

Allan hoped that Roger de Lacy would help him to find Marian and release Guy, but de Lacy had also disappeared. Allan came to Locksley Manor almost every day, but the manor was quiet, and only servants were there. He could only talk to kitchen maids, picking up gossip and tidbits of information about Robin and his legacy. He learned that de Lacy was still an overlord of Locksley and of all Robin’s other lands; Prince John had officially declared that the titles and lands of the deceased Earl of Huntingdon hadn’t reverted back to the crown and would be inherited by Robin’s unborn child.

The worst was that there was absolutely no news from King Richard. Allan was convinced that the King of England would surely come to Nottingham and would lay a siege of the castle. The king had vowed to avenge Robin’s death and had pledged to destroy the Black Knights. But Prince John still ruled England during his brother’s absence, and the Black Knights were still powerful. The future seemed bleak and uncertain, but, for now, Allan’s major concern was Guy’s fate. He felt guilty that he had still failed to find out Guy’s whereabouts. Allan wouldn’t give up on Guy’s life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, the development of Guy’s redemption arc is well underway. You may say that I am a heartless creature who makes Guy suffer too much. But look at the situation from the different angle: Guy killed at the sheriff’s order for power and wealth for years, and he himself acknowledged in the series that he committed some heinous crimes, which is why he has to suffer and learn from his mistakes in order to earn his redemption. On the show, Guy began to change during his imprisonment in the dungeons, where he met Meg, and in this story/novel the same is happening to him.
> 
> Guy needs to spend some time behind the bars and even in the torture room to understand the magnitude of colossal damage he caused to innocents during the years of his service to Vaisey. Being on the receiving end of the similar torture he had once applied to Robin makes him feel guilty, and it is also useful for his redemption. Guy’s imprisonment and torture are the first stage on the road to his ultimate redemption. Now Guy has to face the fact that his own sister hates him with murderous hatred, but he also knows that the seeds of hatred were planted into her heart long before Isabella’s arrival in Nottingham in chapter 1 – it happened when he sold her to Squire Thornton. Now Guy doesn’t blame others for his own mistakes.
> 
> Robin sacrificed his life for King Richard and for England in chapter 7, and he fiercely fought for his life after the regicide in Imuiz. He fought with the fever that ravaged his body for many weeks; he experienced complications with his wound, but he still fought for survival. Robin fought with death in any incarnation, and that would make him stronger, although he is destined to lose his dreams and illusions (it is a widespread consequence of near-death experiences). So if Robin suffered a lot, why shouldn’t Guy suffer? 
> 
> I assure you that Guy will earn his redemption and will become a better man. Guy will never be as self-sacrificing and heroic as Robin because you cannot change a person’s “inborn qualities”, but he will be “a much better version of himself”, something along those lines. Even though it may seem that his life is currently hanging on balance, he won’t die and his will won’t be broken no matter how many times he will be beaten. Some time ago, I announced that Guy and Robin would survive, so rest assured that I am not going to kill off Guy.
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed some insight into Isabella's personal life. There was a great deal of affliction in her life, and she suffered a lot in her dreadful marriage to Squire Thornton, which brutalized and coarsened her. Now she is interested only in amassing power and wealth, which is why she needs to keep herself in Prince John's good graces. But Isabella is not a complete monster: she doesn't want to be the prince's mistress and she remembers several men who could give her love that she dreamt to have. Doesn't Isabella's back story tug at pull at your heartstrings?
> 
> Megan met with Amicia de Beaumont, King Richard’s personal spy and Prince John’s other mistress. So far I am “building” Meg’s portrayal, and I hope you like her. In the next chapter, Meg will begin to act, trying to unveil the mystery of King Richard’s disappearance. As for Marian, I warned you that there would be a drama between Guy, Marian, and Meg in part 3 “Fight for Peace”, with Robin’s participation, by the way. I think you will find Meg’s storyline interesting – she is different from the BBC’s Meg.
> 
> Now you also know what happened to the outlaws after Guy’s arrest. Allan and Little John are in the woods, which is logical because King Richard didn’t return. Much went to Eve, for she is the only thing that ties him to life after Robin’s supposed death. Well, at least they tried to find and save Guy.
> 
> It is historically correct that King Richard disappeared on the way from the Holy Land; later you will learn what happened to the king. Roger de Lacy’s drama in England is also historical correct, except for the fact that he wasn’t arrested by Prince John and his men, but for fictional purposes I need him to be the prince’s prisoner for some time. You see what is happening in England during Robin’s absence? The country is in anarchy, the violence is unbearable, and civil society broke down!
> 
> Robin will reappear in the next chapter. He will have an interesting conversation with Archer.


	15. An Ocean of Confusion

**Chapter 15**

**An Ocean of Confusion**

In Jerusalem, Robin felt better day by day. More than four months passed since he had been stabbed by Vaisey in Imuiz, and his grievous wound was mostly healed. Djaq and Yussuf no longer bandaged the wound, and there was a long disfiguring scar in the lower part of his stomach. The scar and the area around the wound were of an unhealthy color – mostly red – because many scarred tissues formed on the back of the repeated cutting of rotting flesh and double cauterization. Djaq promised that the skin would change its color after special treatment to combat excessive scar tissue formation.

To speed up the healing of his injury, Robin accepted Djaq’s offer to undergo soaking therapy: he allowed her to have the damaged area cleaned with wine, mixed with rose oil or salt water, and he also agreed to have regular baths with myrrh and different types of oil. He liked bathing procedures as they relaxed him and lessened the tension of his muscles, which always increased if he walked for a long time or did much physical exercise; he also enjoyed imagining that he was not a soldier healing from a nearly mortal wound but a pampered child indulging himself in pleasantries.   

There was a swimming pool in the alcove of his chamber, and Robin bathed himself there. Bottles with various oils stood on a table near the pool, which he added to the water in the pool. He was surprised to find out that he actually enjoyed when his entire body was swimming in aromatic oiled water.

Robin lay in the pool, floating in the water and staring up at the Saracen patterns on the vaulted ceiling. His face was seemingly ablaze from the bright beams of sunlight falling upon it. He stirred only after a while, only when he began to feel cold as the water had already cooled a little bit. He called a servant who swiftly brought several buckets of warm water, and soon he again lay still, with his eyes squeezed tightly and a lazy smile gracing his features as he basked in the warm nothingness.

“Paradise?” Djaq asked, smiling down at Robin.

Robin opened his eyes and stared at Djaq with a dreamy smile. "My good physician, it is even better.”

“Don’t stay in the water for so long," Djaq advised.

“Fine. I won’t.”

She arched a brow. “Then get out of the pool.”

“Then you need to leave, Djaq. I cannot climb out of the water while you are here.”

Djaq took soft a huge white cloth from a nearby coach, and approached the pool. “Take it, although I don’t know what part of you I haven’t seen yet,” she teased him.

Robin frantically grabbed the cloth. “What?”

She laughed at him. “I spent several months tending to your wound. I was with you when you were unconscious and feverish. Don’t you think that I have already seen everything you want to cover?”

Robin gaped, and a blush started to creep across his cheeks. “You saw me completely naked?”

“Robin, I acted as your physician, not as one of your numerous female admirers,” Djaq hurried to say. “But, I have to say, that you are a handsome little bird, as one of your Crusader friends calls you.”

Robin’s eyes were enormous, his lips moving soundlessly. Then his initial embarrassment faded, and he grinned brazenly. “Well, I am not ugly at all.”

Djaq laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, Robin, Robin… Modesty has never been your virtue.”

He smiled at her words. “Of course, not.”

"Dry and dress yourself, or you will drown in oil," Djaq retorted with an amused little laugh.

Robin hastily climbed out of the water and grabbed the soft cloth. He eyed himself again and smiled at the thought that he didn’t have many scars from his battles in the Holy Land, except for the scar from Gisborne’s dagger and now from Vaisey’s blade. Unlike many other knights, he had lived through the first five years of his fight almost unscathed, and only now he began to realize that it was so not only because he was great with a sword and a bow, but also because King Richard had probably commanded to protect him in battles.

He donned a long red silk tunic with golden embroidery on the front and the sleeves. In ten minutes, Robin and Djaq sat at the low Arabic table, propped on numerous silk pillows. 

“I feel… quite well. When may I travel to Acre?” Robin broke the silence.

“In two-three weeks, Robin.”

He sucked in a long breath, expelling the air slowly from his lungs. “Please tell me the truth... Will the wound ever heal completely?” Every time he thought of the regicide attempt in Imuiz and of his injury, he broke into a cold sweat, his heart pumped hard, and his fear was overwhelming, as if he were watching a bolt of lightning streaking across the sky.

Djaq nodded in affirmation. “The wound is grave, but I think that there will be no lingering effects. Be prepared that there will be the pain for quite some time as the tissues and muscles are still healing, but it will disappear in the end. You need several more months to completely recuperate.”

“And what about physical exercise?”

“Well, you are doing some now.”

“But it is so painful, Djaq!”

“That’s what I told you. You have to be patient; you will be alright in a due time.”

He sighed with relief. “Will I be able to fight?”

She chuckled. “Oh, yes, you will be able to show off your outstanding skills with a bow and a sword.”

He grinned. "Then it is not too bad."

She smiled, her eyes glistening with joy. “You are a lucky man, Robin. We thought that you would die, but you were clinging to life against all odds.” She was quiet for a moment, thinking whether or not she should say anything about what she was really thinking of his survival. “You and I might not concur in opinions, but I agree with Malik that God spared your life for a reason.”

“I don’t know, Djaq. I don’t know,” he replied grimly.

In Jerusalem, Robin lived in isolation from reality – from the Holy Land with its brutal slaughter, from the memories of England, and from everyone whom had left in Acre. He had a content, calm life, recovering from his fatal injury, and for a moment, he could pretend that nothing existed outside his small world; he could even forget that he had gone to war years ago. In real life, everything was different: he saved many people in Nottingham and took care of the poor; he killed people and often killed easily; he saved England and his king. And he feared to face a reality that could make him more emotionally fragile than he already was.

Smiling at Robin, Djaq leaned across the table and patted his shoulder. “Near-death experiences are always… difficult. But you are alive, and that’s all that matters.”

Robin’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Thank you for everything you did for me.”

“You will be alright over time,” Djaq promised as she lay back on the pillows.

“Djaq, did I say anything… strange in delirium?” Robin asked worriedly, a deep frown crossing his forehead. His eyes were on Djaq’s calm features, his mind grappling with the unsettling knowledge that he could have said something he must have never told anyone.

“You spoke about many things, Robin.”

“Did I… speak about King Richard?” Again, a sinking feeling permeated his heart: if he had given away his secrets, it was too dangerous for the Plantagenets, for England, and for many others.

Djaq drew a deep breath. “Quite a lot.”

Fear obvious in his eyes, Robin’s face darkened in anxiety. “Did I say something… strange?”

“Yes,” Djaq said painfully. “You spoke about your true relationship with the king.”

“What did I say?” he asked numbly.

“You said that you are his brother,” Djaq answered, looking at him straight in the eye.

The confession caused a shocked silence. A few moments passed, and neither of them said anything. The length of silence reached an uncomfortable level.

Robin lowered his head, hiding his concerned grimace with a hand over his mouth; his thoughts were churning and scraping at the inside of his mind. He sat speechless and motionless, his mind fighting against the assault of despair and confusion. Then he felt a movement nearby, a stealthy sense of someone moving towards him – it was Djaq who shifted on the pillows towards him, but he didn’t see her as his shock rendered him dumb. Then he felt Djaq’s hand clasping his, and he looked into her dark sympathetic eyes that were soothing his fears without a voice.

Djaq smiled cordially at him. “You spoke about King Richard and many of us heard it; you called him. Once you said about the blood bonds that tie you to Richard, but at that moment, only Prince Malik and I were with you; nobody else heard that.”

Robin nodded slowly. “It is the secret of life and death, and I cannot tell anyone about it. It may cost many lives, even my own life. It will lead to chaos in the Angevin Empire.”

“Do you think that I wish you any harm, Robin?”

"No, I don't."

She squeezed his hand tightly in hers, her friendly affection for him written all over her face. "Robin, calm down. Don't overexcite yourself," she admonished. "Neither Malik nor I will ever utter a word about it. Even Will knows nothing, and I swear I will never tell him anything."

“Thank you.” He rested a hand fondly on the young Saracen’s shoulder.

“Welcome.” She sighed. “You don’t remember what happened to you?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t. I still don’t know how I got to Jerusalem.”

“Well, one man saved your life. He is here now. You will have a chance to talk to him later.”

“Archer,” Robin said curiously. “I haven’t talked to him yet, but I will.”

On the same evening, Robin asked Will and Djaq to invite Archer to his bedchamber.

Comfortably cushioned on the bed, Robin listened attentively to Archer’s enthralling tale of salvation, murder, and escape. Robin’s countenance was neutral even when Archer became explaining his role in the hero’s salvation, unfolding the story of how he had killed the Bedouin to save their lives, had put Robin in a cart, and had traveled to Jerusalem from the region adjacent to the Dead Sea.

“Why did you want to kill the king and me?” Robin questioned bluntly.

Archer looked stupefied for a moment, and then he grinned sheepishly. “Well, I am your half-brother. Sir Malcolm of Locksley… was my father.”

There was a sudden silence, and all eyes riveted on Archer’s grinning features. Only Robin looked serious, thinking that his first suspicions had proved correct. 

Will regarded Archer untrustworthily. “Robin is Sir Malcolm‘s only son!”

“Well, he had a secret love affair with Lady Ghislaine of Gisborne,” Archer clarified. “I am Malcolm of Locksley’s illegitimate son. Guy of Gisborne is my half-brother.”

Robin studied Archer for a moment, his gaze penetrating. “Show me your birthmark, Archer.”

“What?” Archer looked abashed. “You knew? You are a truly shameless and cruel man, Robin Hood! You knew the truth and allowed me to be raised by unknown people! I was considered a bastard of beggars or peasants! I spent the first twelve years of my life in an orphanage! I never knew that I am of noble blood! I had to live in poverty and struggle for a piece of bread! I had to–”

Robin interrupted him, annoyed. “Archer, I am not intending to have a rumpus here,” he said, drawing a long breath. “Just show me your birthmark, and then we will talk,” he added nonchalantly.

Will and Djaq shared agitated glances, shaking their heads in disapproval.

His face contorted with anger, Archer pulled up his tunic, exposing the bare flesh. Indeed, he had the distinctive arrow shaped birthmark on his stomach. “Now you see it! I am your half-brother, Robin Hood!” he blustered as he pulled down his tunic.

“Yes, you are my half-brother,” Robin confirmed. “You shouldn’t be angry with me. I learned about your existence several days before the regicide attempt in Imuiz.”

“Well, it is good.” Archer looked relieved and somewhat embarrassed.

“And you, young man, tried to kill Robin to take your revenge on him for having everything while you had nothing?” Djaq said brusquely, demonstrating her keen intellect.

Archer looked uncomfortable. “Exactly,” he admitted reluctantly. “I didn’t plan to kill King Richard, although I told Prince John a different story. I wanted to kill Robin because I hated him for having everything I never had. I didn’t know Robin well… And then I understood that I made a great mistake.”

“Hmm,” Will grunted. “And with this purpose, you came to Acre to murder Robin and the king.”

“Everyone has a right for a mistake. We all are human, and nobody is perfect,” Robin intervened.

Archer took a deep breath. “I told you the truth that Prince John hired me to kill King Richard and Robin. I switched sides in Imuiz and fought on your side.” He gave Will a cold glare. “I discovered that Robin was alive when all of you fled to Acre from the sandstorm. I saved Robin’s life from the Bedouins. If I had wanted him dead, I would have thrown him off the cart on the way to Jerusalem, leaving him in the desert to die from a fever and thirst!”

“Archer redeemed himself,” Robin annunciated with a ring of finality in his firm and insistent voice. “Archer saved me. I owe him my life, and I will never forget this.” He gave a bleak smile. “He is my brother. I am not going to persecute him for his faults.”

Archer gazed at Robin in disbelief. And then he smiled. “Thank you, Robin.”

Djaq gave a smile. “Archer, I think that you have much in common with Robin.” She glanced over Archer. “You smile like Robin. You have the eyes of the same rare color – pale blue. You possess the same natural charm as Robin has. There is an air of smugness about you, which makes you very similar to him; but you are able to accept your mistakes and make amends.”

“You think so?” Archer asked curiously.

“Yes, young man,” Djaq replied gladsomely.

Soon Will and Djaq excused themselves and retired to bed. Archer remained with Robin who requested that he stay for a while. In the yellow glowing light from the burning oil lamps and lanterns, the two brothers struck an unusual vision as they watched each other in an omniscient silence, each of them well aware of how much more they had to tell one another.

Robin eyed Archer, his gaze roving and coming to a halt at the other man’s eyes. He was surprised to find some resemblance between them. “Who told you the truth about your birth?” he broached the subject that he had been dreading since Archer’s confession to being Malcolm’s bastard.

“Our father,” Archer replied briefly.

Robin blinked in disbelief. “Who?”

“Robin, it sounds impossible, but it is true. Our father is alive,” Archer said softly. He could see Robin’s shock, and a flood of sympathy rolled through him. “He found me in Byzantine Empire over a year and a half ago after he had spent several years in Tyre, in Saracen captivity. And then he told me that I was his and Lady Ghislaine of Gisborne’s son.” He sighed. “He informed me that you became the Earl of Huntingdon after his supposed death in the fire.”

“Did he tell you why he disappeared after the fire?” Robin sighed loudly, distressed.

“No, he didn’t. He only said that he _had to hide_ ,” Archer said, a smirk on his lips. “He said that you are a rich earl and King Richard’s favorite, and he recommended that I find you.” He laughed bitterly. “He implied that you would take care of me, although it was too late for him to play a role of a loving and caring father.”

“Tell me everything,” Robin said in a voice that was barely hiding his foul mood.

Archer relayed a tale about his life in the orphanage; he had been treated cruelly there and had used the first chance to escape. He told about his life in the East and what he had learned there: he had been taught Turkish swordsmanship and spearmanship, he had acquired skills with a Saracen re-curved bow and some kinds of Saracens’ exotic weapons, and he had learned various languages, mathematics, and many other things, which impressed Robin a lot. Robin smirked when Archer said that he could shoot a man from a hundred feet; it appeared that archery skills were the Huntingdon legacy.

As Archer started telling him about his conversation with Malcolm, Robin felt anger simmer in his blood. Robin was disappointed in his father. He realized why Malcolm had gone into hiding, assuming Eleanor of Aquitaine had commanded his father to vanish and never come back to keep Robin alive and out of grave danger to be killed at King Henry’s behest; after the fire at Gisborne Manor, Malcolm was doomed to live in shadows until his dying day, but Archer didn’t need to know about that.

There was a dangerous silence when Archer finished speaking. Breathless from telling his story, he leaned back against the pillows on Robin’s bed and wearily closed his eyes, waiting for Robin to speak. However, Robin was silent for a long time, watching Archer with an understanding that far outmatched Archer’s, which puzzled Archer. It was not easy for the two of them as it evoked too many emotions in their hearts – resentment towards their father and astonishment that Malcolm had chosen, suddenly and unexpectedly, to find Archer after so many years of silence.

Darkness was deepening. Through the opened double doors of the balcony, Robin and Archer noticed a pale slip of the crescent moon and a multitude of stars shimmering in the blue-black sky.

“Is it the whole story?” Robin asked after a pause.

“Yes,” Archer breathed every word, his heart pounding in anxiety as he waited for Robin’s reaction.

“Your whole life seems to be a startling experience,” Robin commented.

“Yes, it is.” Archer looked thoughtful. “I was astonished observing Isabella and Guy on a ship to Acre. At first, I thought that Guy was a villain as he sold his sister into a marriage to an unknown man. I pitied Isabella and tried to help her.” He lapsed into silence, collecting his thoughts before speaking. “I couldn’t imagine that Isabella was against King Richard. She is a cunning bitch.”

Looking at him, Robin grinned. “I am a conniving fox, too. What do you think of it?”

Archer smiled. “We both are foxes in our own ways, Robin, although I believe that our father is a much more conniving man than each of us may ever be.” He clenched his fists; his smile was gone, and his lips thinned. “Father betrayed both of us. Even though you lived in luxury, you were an orphan – he abandoned you, and it is a betrayal. And he didn’t care for me and placed me in the orphanage.”

“Oh!” Robin returned, a playful expression on his face. “What a traitor our father is!”

"Robin, I am being serious! Our father is a rake and a scoundrel!”

"A scoundrel, a liar, and a cheat," Robin agreed. He laughed at the thought that _his father had sired two illegitimate sons and had abandoned both of them_. He still couldn’t understand and accept how his father could have stooped so low as to have an affair with Queen Eleanor, even though she herself had wanted him. His face didn’t betray his emotional turbulence, and he grinned widely. "But you have something in common with our father. You are unscrupulous, dangerous, knavish, and crafty."

"Eh?" Archer spluttered, dismayed. "But aren’t these qualities yours as well?"

“Well, I believe that I have taken more after my mother than my father,” Robin said as he reminisced about what Richard had told him about his similarity to Eleanor.

“Your mother died? What was her name?” Archer was curious.

The question bruised Robin’s keenest nerves. He felt a lump form in his throat, and every muscle of his body tautened. “She died in childbirth. Her name was Elizabeth,” he stated with a faraway look.

All at once, some spiritual vision blazed through Robin’s mind, and its effect was seen in an accession of light illuminating his soul. Robin felt how foreign the words about Lady Elizabeth of Locksley sounded to him. Had he already accepted that he was Queen Eleanor’s illegitimate son? He was confused about his own attitude towards his birth. He only knew that his affection for King Richard deepened after the revelation of the truth, and he accepted the existence of sacred blood bonds with the king with an open heart. 

“My mother died in several days after my birth! What a coincidence!”

Robin gave a nod. “Indeed.” He tilted his head, smirking at the younger man. “By the way, whatever you might have thought of me, I have to say that I have never been very crafty and knavish, although I am conniving and original in everything I do. I am also not dangerous for those who don’t want to kill the King of England, my friends, innocents, and me.”

"I see now that you are different from the image I had in my head,” Archer murmured, absently rubbing his chin. "But I am not too bad at all. I am not a villain like Lord Vaisey."

“You are definitely not evil.”

Archer’s face broke into a radiant smile. “Thank you for your praise, Robin.”

“Archer, I am going to officially accept you in the Huntingdon family,” Robin informed.

“Really?” Archer gasped with amazement.

“Robin nodded. “Yes. I will acknowledge you as Archer of Locksley and my half-brother. I will transfer on your name one of my fiefdoms, and you will be a lord and my vassal. Of course, you won’t be the Earl of Huntingdon as this is my title… by birthright, but you will have your own land.”

"Are you really serious?" Archer demanded incredulously.

A smiling Robin nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“I would be grateful.”

“Our father should have done that a long time ago.” Robin huffed in anger that, however, swiftly slackened. “You saved King Richard’s life when Vaisey stabbed me. I believe that he will reward you.”

Sending him an impatient look, Archer asked, “And what will I get from the king?”

The sandy-colored man smiled with honest warmth. “Greedy?”

The younger man smiled back. “Yes, I am.”

Robin moved his body on the bed, a movement too quick and too precipitous. A bolt of pain ripped from his lower stomach and down his leg as his wound throbbed in pain. “Oh, damn,” he moaned, catching his breath as a spasm crossed his face.

“Are you alright? Do you need anything?” Archer asked in trepidation.

“I am as fine as it can be.” Robin ran a hand across his brow; then he jumped to another subject. “The king never forgets those who saved his life. He may give you some land or even a title, although I think that he will reward you with lands and will offer you a position in his household.”

The eyes of an impressed Archer twinkled in delight. “Oh, my! It would be absolutely wonderful!”

With effort, Robin propped himself up on the pillows, giving Archer a long, distant look, as though he hadn’t been in the same room. “I had been a prime example of an arrogant and spoiled youth before I joined the Crusade. I was a pampered nobleman, although I was a generous lord and cared for my people.” His face turned somber, and he glanced away, staring at a burning oil lamp. “Here, in the Holy Land, I saw many people dying for nothing. Noblemen, squires, servants, and Saracen soldiers – everyone died in cruel and pointless battles for a patch of land that belongs to everyone. Everyone spilled blood for the king, for the Grace of God, and for their survival, and that taught me to look at others in a different light.”

Archer eyed Robin’s profile in admiration. “You are so different from I used to think of you.”

“Your opinion of me was based on rumors,” Robin said absently, his eyes still fixed on the lamp.

“I cannot deny that.”

“But there is some truth in rumors.”

“Not about you,” Archer countered.

Robin granted his half-brother a doleful smile. “Maybe.”

“I don’t know how you spent so many years in the Holy Land,” Archer said seriously. “I hate the desert and the volatile local climate with freezing cold in nighttime and lethal heat in daytime. I told you that I visited this place four years ago, during my journey in the East, but I quickly left for Cyprus and Antioch, and then traveled to Byzantine Empire. I spent only weeks in Acre, but I quickly grew to hate it.”

At last, Robin turned his head to Archer. “Well, you might be surprised to learn that I wasn’t very fond of living in the desert and fighting with the Saracens. I regretted that I had gone to war.”

“Robin, I have heard a lot about you. It seemed that in Acre everyone talked about you.”

“Really?” Robin smiled.

“Yes,” Archer confirmed. “The name of the brave Captain Locksley was spoken with adoration and envy. I wasn’t aware of our relationship, but I memorized your name.”

Robin arched a brow. “Interesting.”

“It is unbelievable that you turned out to be my brother!”

Robin’s face morphed into utmost seriousness. "Archer, did you tell someone else about your true parentage? Do Guy and Isabella of Gisborne know the truth?"

“Although I spent much time with them on the way to Acre, I said nothing,” Archer responded as he sat up on the bed, staring at Robin.

“Good.” Anxiety splashed into Robin’s chest as he thought of his secret. Endeavoring to maintain a calm demeanor, he said, “Archer, you should never tell anyone that our father is alive. Even Gisborne shouldn’t know about his survival, at least until I permit you to reveal the truth.” It sounded like an order from a commander to his soldier. “Take my words seriously.”

“But why?” Archer was bewildered.

Robin was lucky to have the answer at his fingertips. At his brother’s puzzled expression, he laughed outright. “Yeah, Archer,” he drawled, his expression changing into good-humored, honest intelligence. “You have just astonished me with your brilliance.” He flashed an easy smile. “I thought that you would understand that I cannot allow anyone to disgrace the family name more than I myself have already done that.” As Archer’s puzzled face, he decided to elaborate. “I rebelled against Prince John in England, and although I think that I did the right thing, King Richard has the opposite opinion. I cannot disgrace myself and the honorable name of the Huntingdons when I am married to the king‘s cousin.”

Archer nodded in understanding. “I got it. Don’t worry.”

“Good.” Robin again stared silently into the flames, engrossed in his thoughts.

A glum silence ensued. Robin was absorbed in his thoughts of Guy and Marian for a while, but then his mind drifted back to Melisende, and somehow his anxiety eased. But Archer wanted to talk to Robin, interested in his life, and Robin’s silence made him feel annoyed.

“Robin?” Archer called.

Robin turned his gaze to Archer. “Yes?”

“You are not telling me everything?”

“There is always something we don’t need to know,” Robin said in an undertone of mystification. He would never share his secret even with Archer; Gisborne had to know the truth because the secret of Robin’s true origin played a role in their lives, but Archer had no linkage to the matter.

Archer simply nodded as he accepted Robin’s response. There was nothing else he could ask on the matter, although he hankered to unriddle Robin’s mysteries.

“Will you ever forgive me for siding with Prince John?” Archer said, his voice husky. “I am sorry. I lost my head. When I learned the truth from our father, I felt as if my head were bursting. I thought that I was going mad. And I was insanely outraged.”

Robin was trembling with anger. “I understand you, Archer. When I think of our father, I myself feel like howling at the moon, or dipping my hands in the desert sand, or worse – spewing blasphemies and writing them on one of the walls in this chamber.” He sighed deeply. “I have already forgiven you. I know that you didn’t mean to kill the king and even saved his life. You also saved my life.”

“I am really glad,” Archer uttered. “And I must forgive myself – for many things. And I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

Robin’s anger abated. “You think of many things in the same way I do.”

“Well, we share blood, don’t we?”

Robin tipped his chin. “Yes, of course. It is simply interesting to analyze what we have in common.” He looked melancholic. “And whatever I see in you, Archer, or in anyone else, doesn’t amaze me.” He rubbed his cheek. “I think that nothing can scare, hurt, or amaze me. Nothing.”

“Why, Robin?” Archer asked, with a kind of amused lilt to his voice.

“I died and came back from the dead, and now nothing amazes me,” the hero retorted meaningfully. He sounded cool and unperturbed in spite of speaking about such things.

“At home, you will feel better. You will sort out your thoughts,” Archer said in an allaying tone.

Robin heaved a sigh, deep and sore. “My salvation might be blessedness, or it might be not,” he said in a hushed voice, feeling as if something vital in his new life were slipping from his fingers every time he got closer to understand it. “I am not sure that I will be able to figure out what exactly happened to my convictions and to my life in the past months. But please don’t ask me what I feel. I am not ready to lay my cards on the table; at least not yet. I prefer to keep everything to myself.”

Archer nodded wordlessly, wondering what Robin had been like before his death in Imuiz.

§§§

In the next few weeks, Robin’s health significantly improved, and it was time to return to Acre. Prince Malik and Prince Al-Afdal recommended that Robin spend several more weeks in Jerusalem, but he declined the offer. His heart was heavy as his king, his wife, and his friends still knew nothing about his survival, for he had refused to send a messenger to them for the purpose of caution; he even insisted that they don’t announce the news about his miraculous survival until he sailed from Acre; he was very cautious, for he planned to use his death to the king’s advantage and against the Black Knights.

On the evening before Robin’s departure from Jerusalem, Saladin invited Robin to have a farewell dinner, and Robin agreed, wishing to thank the master of the East for his hospitality and care. The luxurious dinner was served in Saladin’s personal chambers with its several windows open to the still-sun-warmed air of early evening. Prince Malik attended the dinner, talking about the Saracens and Robin’s considerable contribution to the achievement of peace in the Holy Land.

Robin was stunned with the sultan's appearance as the legendary Lord of Islam seemed too strange at first. Saladin was a slim, dark-skinned man, shorter than average and not very muscular. He was clearly worn-out both by his age and by war; his face was hollow and wrinkled. His pointed black beard was cut in the style preferred by most Arabic nobles. Dressed in simple robes of white silk and wearing a white turban on his head, he looked more like a Muslim emir than the sultan; the members of his family wore more expensive clothing. But the stern and uncompromising gaze of his brown eyes, his imperious look, and his authoritative tone that underlay his courteous and clever words revealed that he was accustomed to command.

As the dinner was finished, Saladin looked at Robin. “Sir Robin, there has never been a war in the Holy Land like the Third Crusade. Believe me that this war is very different from everything we saw in our Muslim world before.” His gaze turned more intense. ”What do you think about it?”

Robin stared at Saladin blandly, preferring to be reserved and cautious. “As far as you, Your Highness, this war has both good and bad consequences for the Saracens and for you in particular. At one side, we made peace, and we have access to the holy city, but we don’t hold it, like King Richard and all Christians planned at the beginning of the Crusade. Now my king left, and no one is threatening your position of power in Cairo, Damascus, or Jerusalem.” He paused, sipping warm spiced red wine, which Saladin ordered especially for Robin. “On a flip side, with all due respect to you, I have to say that this war showed that there are great Christian generals who are able to oppose you and win.”

Saladin laughed. “I have never had such a great rival as Melek-Ric,” he said sincerely. “Melek-Ric is the great warrior king and the shining light of Christendom, who demands nothing less than a total victory and surrender.” He pursed his lips, canting his neck slightly. “I have to acknowledge that Melek-Ric pushed me into committing all my strength to total war, which Richard was convinced he couldn’t lose.” He made a helpless gesture. “Yet, Jerusalem is still in our hands.”

Sensing the cue in Saladin’s words, Robin smiled wryly. “But are there any winners, Your Highness?” His face turned blank in an instant. “We are no winning parties in brutal wars.”

A silence settled over them. Malik listened to the dialogue with bated breath.

“Indeed. We ended in a draw,” Saladin admitted, his voice quiet.

Robin rearranged himself into a more elegant stance on his cushions. “I think Outremer is completely unlike the world which all of us knew before King Richard came here. We call these lands ‘the Holy Land‘, but we all know that many things in these lands are _unholy_. It is the world which many people – Christians, Saracen, and Jews – will never understand completely.” A sigh tumbled from his lips. “And while people don’t comprehend that these lands belong to everyone, wars will continue.”

Saladin laughed heartily. “Well, I cannot disagree.”

“Then we understand each other,” Robin said.

Robin took a new goblet of wine from a servant who filled it with wine. Then the same servant poured out wine for Saladin and Malik, and then he left the chamber.

“What is Jerusalem worth?” Saladin asked Robin directly.

“Nothing and everything.” Robin always chose weasel words answering provocative questions.

Saladin nodded, his face expressionless, but his eyes aflame. “I remember you when you were younger. I saw you in the battle of Arsuf for the first time.”

“You saw me before?” Robin was amazed.

“From a huge distance, Sir Robin,” Saladin continued. “In the woods of Arsuf, my army fell on Melek-Ric’s troops from all sides; you were outnumbered seven to one in our benefit.” He tapped his chin. “But Melek-Ric committed all his forces to the attack and led them to the greatest victory. He pursued my men with singular ferocity, falling upon them and slaughtering everyone when his sword made contact with them.” He pointed a finger at Robin. “It was when I saw you, Sir Robin, on your white stallion riding near Melek-Ric; you were cutting down my men as if you were hunting a prey.”

Robin flushed; he didn’t like the topic. “What did you see in me then? Cruelty? Hatred?”

The Sultan shook his head. “No. I saw that you are a prized warrior, Robin of Locksley, honored for your courage, military skills, and high-principled audacity.” He smiled. “But I also saw another thing in the first moments after the end of the battle: you and the Earl of Leicester crouched on the battlefield, looking down, at the crimson-soaked sand, while others cheered and celebrated.” He chuckled. “It was clear that Melek-Ric’s greatest victory satisfied your pride and hotheaded arrogance, but not your heart.”

Prince Malik smiled at Robin, understanding that the young man had been already growing sick of bloodshed by the time when the battle of Arsuf had taken place.

“It is true. Robert and I didn’t like what we saw,” Robin admittedly.

Saladin stared at Robin with esteem. “You are a good and clever man, Robin of Locksley. Melek-Ric is lucky to have you among his subjects and close friends.” He flashed Robin a smile of rare warmth. “And I have to say that you are a remarkable creature among so many pale-faced men whom I still don’t understand.” He looked at the young man with what seemed to me to be a solicitous stare. “But before I retire for the night, I want to tell you something, Sir Robin.” 

Robin arched a brow. “I am at your disposal, Your Highness.”

“Lift your eyes higher, Sir Robin,” Saladin began in a metaphorical sense, smiling at Robin. “Of course, there is another world, a better place than earth.” His expression transformed to detachment. “Our world is a dying ember, there only darkness here; some other unknown worlds are like rising suns, and there is much light there.” He raised his voice. “But there is no point in thinking about these worlds while you are alive. There is no need to dream of getting back to light from darkness, Sir Robin, even if for an instant, just for an instant, you think that you will feel better in another world.”

Robin took steadying, fortifying breaths, anything to stave off an impetuous attack of anxiety. Saladin was an intelligent and wise man, who saw through him, gauging his most intimate thoughts. In the bright orange firelight flowing from the gilded lamps on the ceiling, his face seemed to churn within decision to say what troubled him for a long time.

Robin looked composed, but inside his whole being was torn between angels of light and demons of darkness. A feeling of confusion pervaded him. “I have long been thinking of our life on earth,” he began in a philosophical tone. He trailed off; his lips touched the rim of his goblet, and he drank some wine. “Why did we come here, to this life? Why did any of us come here – if not to try and make the world better and perfect? But there is no perfection in real life! Those who dream of living in an ideal world are doomed to be hurt deeply when they realize that their high and mighty principles don’t work and that our world is darker than they believed it to be.” He set the goblet on the table.

“There is no perfection that is a relative thing. There is no ideal world without bloodshed,” Saladin noted contemplatively. “All ideals are created and nourished by people‘s imagination.”

Robin was conflicted over his feelings and his perception of life, but there was one thing he knew for sure – the world wasn’t ideal. “I no longer want to make the world ideal. I am disillusioned.”

Saladin smiled. “Sir Robin, you cannot ignore reality if you don’t like. You cannot forget your past and start anew, rebuilding the world and your life entirely from scratch.” He raised his goblet and sipped wine. “You have to accept reality, even if you hate it. But it won’t be easy for you, although it might be easier than before.”

Robin looked uncertain. “Perhaps, my confusion is the price for my survival.”

“I don’t think so, Sir Robin,” Saladin contravened. “You will have to do your best not to lose yourself in your new life. For some time, you will feel pessimistic, like never seeing the rainbow after a storm, but you will find your path.” He raised his voice. “You, the Crusades, say: ‘ _Deus voluit – God wills it’_. Peace be with you, young man.”

Robin smiled, relaxing a little bit. “ _For every man there is a purpose which he sets up in his life. Let yours be the doing of all good deeds_ ,” he quoted from Quran. “I hope that peace will reign in your lands as long as possible, Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn Yūsuf ibn Ayyūb.”

As Saladin had retired for the night, Prince Malik invited Robin to his quarters, wishing to have a private conversation with his friend. They entered a luxurious chamber on the second floor of the palace. Rich crimson Turkish carpets covered the floor, and the walls were hung with silk tapestries of red and orange colors. It seemed that everything glowered red around them, as if they stood in the rays of a sinking sun. Gilded lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a pool of light, into which they stepped as they walked to a low table and cushions spread on the carpet.

“God returned you to the land of the living for a reason, Robin,” Prince Malik repeated the words which he had already said before. “Your mission on earth is not finished.”

A slightly unhinged Robin shook his head. “I don’t know.” He was too confused about the turbulent emotions that were bubbling in his chest since he had emerged from the deep slumber.

“You are confused,” Malik concluded.

Robin gazed away. “I am.”

“Robin, you died and then came back. It always changes a person a lot,” Malik said carefully, looking at him with concern. “Yussuf, my physician, says that near-death experiences always elicit in people multiple sensations – from feelings of levitation and total serenity to dissolution, pain, and dread.”

“Oh,” Robin breathed, feeling a shiver cascading down his spine.

“What did you see, Robin, when you died?”

“I saw a lot of light. I felt… good, calm, and safe, and then there was only inky darkness.” Robin smiled vaguely, remembering a sensation of perfect bliss which he had experienced in his dying moments. For the first time since his awakening, he could speak about it. “When I died, I felt such lightness that I had never felt in life. I felt as if I had awakened from a long sleep full of fearful dreams and nightmares.”

The prince put a comforting hand on Robin’s shoulder, gazing into his eyes. “God wanted you to live. Always remember this and forget about everything else. All good things that happen to us in life surely come from God alone.”

Robin shook his head, unable to speak. A short silence stretched between them.

“You read Quran, Robin.” Malik sent his Christian friend a long, thoughtful look. “Remember what is said about God’s will and blessings there: ‘ _And thy Lord creates whatever He pleases and chooses whomsoever He pleases. It is not for them to choose. Glorified be Allah, and far is He above all that they associate with Him’_. Does it make sense to you?”

A lackluster smile flitted across Robin’s face. “I am grateful to God for my life. I didn’t want to die, and I am not going to die again,” he supplied, his face brightening ever so lightly.

"Only remember what God says about being grateful, Robin: ‘ _The more you thank Me, the more I give you. But if you turn unappreciative, then My retribution is severe’_. It has a great meaning for everyone, for every living creature in the world.”

“This is not about me,” Robin assured. “My principle is not to think of whom I will kill when I draw my sword, but to think of whom I will spare and how many people I will save."

Malik contemplated Robin admiringly. "You are the noblest and most foolhardy man whom I have ever met."

“You are too kind, Malik.”

Robin fell silent. He looked around, at the red and orange hangings and decorations in the chamber, and they reminded him of Vaisey. He instinctively associated the colors of rising and setting sun with blood – the sheriff’s blood. A cold and bloody rage overtook him, his mind drifting back to the image of the sneering, ugly face with jeweled tooth gleaming in the rays of the fierce, relentless sun.

For so long, Robin had thought that he had hated Gisborne most of all among all men, but now his hatred for Guy was gone. Instead, he hated Vaisey with murderous, implacable hatred, and this feeling took possession of his whole heart. He wanted Vaisey dead so much! Darkness was closing over him like a grave, but he hastened into that darkness that burst forth in his heart. He also felt exultation as he was still in life and Vaisey had lost in the round of their game that had ended in Imuiz.

“Robin?” Malik seemed to be searching for delicate words, his eyes taking in Robin’s pallid face and focusing on his eyes blazing with fire.

Robin turned his attention back to the prince. “Sorry, Malik, I was a little distracted.”

“It takes wisdom to live a life as God wills it,” Malik said rhetorically, his eyes at Robin. “But for some men, like you, it is easier than for others.” He smiled cordially. “You are wiser than many other Christians in the matters of kindness and goodness, but you lack an ability to accept real life as it is – in all its darkness.” He touched his rings on his right hand, staring at Robin with slightly raised brows. “I believe your last experience with life and death made you wiser and more mature, right?”

Robin stared at Malik in amazement, and all the color drained from his face. The prince learned to read his thoughts, which very few people could do, for Robin’s mind, with all its unusual intricacies, was too complicated for an ordinary man’s understanding. “What do you want to say?” he inquired uneasily.

Prince Malik laughed. “Don’t worry, for I am not going to lecture you,” he said almost gently. “I only want to say that sometimes it is wiser to hold back from action before emotions – hatred, love, dislike, or thirst for revenge – overwhelm you and cloud your judgment.”

The fire in Robin’s eyes burned brighter than ever. “You are right, my friend. There was one man whom I hated more than others, but I don’t hate him anymore.” There was an undisguised sharp anger in his eyes. “Now I hate another man. And I want to spill his blood.”

“The fate of this evil man bothers you. You want vengeance in your heart. And you are planning something very dark.”

“Yes,” Robin confirmed, his eyes ablaze, his mouth tightening. “I want to kill the man who sent me to the pits of hell when he almost killed me several months ago.”

“I know whom you mean – Sheriff Vaisey,” Malik said with a woesome sigh. “You saved me from him in Nottingham.” He paused, his eyes examining Robin closely. “Vaisey’s retribution is no longer your concern. Forget about revenge. You saw the light of heaven in the afterlife, and it is a good sign – light, not vengeance and darkness, must fill your life.”

Robin looked pained, almost sickened, not knowing how the prince had guessed his plans to cruelly murder the sheriff. “No vengeance even if Vaisey caused so much pain to King Richard, my friends, countless innocents, and me?”

“No vengeance. Not in the slightest degree,” Malik retorted. “You are nobler than the sheriff, and you shouldn’t become an executioner of the man who almost killed you. Kill him only if you have to and have a chance, but don’t let yearning for revenge overwhelm your heart. Leave this villain’s punishment to Melek-Ric, for he will do everything for you.”

“Ah, you know about–” Robin broke off.

“We do know, Robin. But you should never worry – my tongue will never loosen.”

Robin smiled. “I believe you. Thank you.”

Malik smiled back at him. “Welcome.”

“Although I didn’t like being in the lions' den when you criticized my quest for vengeance, I am grateful for your concern,” Robin said, sidestepping the topic as he didn’t wish to discuss it. He knew that the prince wouldn’t renege on his word to keep his secret, and that was enough for him.

Malik only nodded, hoping that his friend would take his little preach into consideration. “I have a special gift for you, Robin. I am sure that you shall like it,” he declared earnestly.

Malik led Robin into the adjacent chamber. The oil lamps had yet to be lit there, and twilight shadows filled the room. Malik approached a low table in the corner, his eyes landing on two objects – a golden scimitar with a jeweled hilt and a recurved Saracen bow.

The prince swung his gaze to Robin. “I thought that you wouldn’t want to use your old scimitar again.”

“I think I won’t, given that I was stabbed with my own scimitar.” There was much bitterness in Robin’s heart at the thought that he had been almost killed with his own weapon. Yet, somehow he also considered it right and fair, for he had also taken many lives with the same sword.

Malik made an inviting gesture. “Come here, Robin. Come to me.”

Robin stalked towards Malik and stopped next to him. He took the scimitar in his hands, grinning from ear to ear. “It is such a useful gift! It is a great gift!”

“I knew that you would like it.”

“Thank you.” Robin flashed a brilliant smile, his eyes shining with gratitude.

Robin was truly delighted that now he had a new scimitar. He had planned to buy a new one in Jerusalem before his departure, but Malik had taken the initiative upon himself by making this gift to him. He had never liked using an English broadsword, for a scimitar better suited him because of natural slenderness. Moreover, scimitar was more convenient because of its relatively light weight as compared to a large sword; the curved design of a scimitar was good for slashing his opponents.

Robin practiced some blows straight away. He swung his scimitar in a deadly arc that would have shred anything and everything in its path up to several meters away if he was on the battlefield. Spurred on by enthusiasm, he made an elegant combination of crisscross and downward blows; these blows didn’t require significant strength from him. Then he spun around and rushed forward, launching a rampageous assault on his imaginary opponent. Then he set himself in a spin, and it was when he felt pain slash through his lower abdomen and down his right hip.

“Argh,” Robin groaned. He was angry that his practice caused him pain, astounded that he could stand straight. The pain in his stomach was so acute that he found it difficult to breathe.

Malik eyed him with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Don’t strain yourself, Robin.”

“I will be more careful next time.” Robin looked down, at his new scimitar that he was holding in his hands. The pain receded, and he was able to breathe normally.

Prince Malik decided against asking Robin about his health, suspecting that it would irritate him. “Your new weapons will take every care of you in a moment of need.”

“I have no idea where my old weapons are.” An eager gleam suddenly leaped into Robin’s eyes as his gaze fell on the sapphire emblem of a bird on the hilt of the scimitar. “Is it a jeweled emblem?”

The prince cocked his head. “Your name – Robin – means ‘ _famed, bright, and shining’_ , and your weapons must be jeweled.” He smiled mischievously. “And, of course, an emblem must be in the form of a bird and made out of sapphires, for your name means a bird and your eyes are like an azure sky.”

Robin threw back his head and laughed. “Thank you.”

“God bless you, Robin of Locksley,” Malik said, smiling warmly. “Safety and peace be with you.”

“God bless you, Malik Yūsuf ibn Ayyūb, and may peace reign in your heart,” Robin gave his best wishes, smiling in response. “Farewell, my friend.”

§§§

Robin arrived in Acre, accompanied by Archer, Will, and Djaq. He didn’t plan to delay his departure and was lucky that there was a free ship leaving Acre the next morning.

Henry of Jerusalem, Count de Champagne, was delighted to see Robin alive and visibly healthy, although his face expressed real concern as he talked to Robin. Lady Isabella of Jerusalem, Countess de Champagne, flirted with Robin boldly and shamelessly, but he only smiled coldly at her attempts to attract his attention; even de Champagne laughed at his own wife. Henry and Robin had achieved peace, and Robin’s scandalous love affair with Isabella no longer stood between them.

As soon as she met Robin again, Isabella of Jerusalem couldn’t take her eyes off him. She was in exhilarated spirits, and she wanted him to speak to her, to smile at her, and to compliment her. She could look at him as if she were hypnotized to the point that she forgot about everyone around.

“Lord Huntingdon, you are alive! It is God’s gift to meet you again, my noblest knight in the Angevin Empire!" Isabella exclaimed boisterously. "May God keep you, Huntingdon, from being ever wounded again and be taken from King Richard, your friends, and all ladies who are so charmed by you!”

Robin bowed to Isabella. “Thank you for your compassion, Lady Isabella. You are too kind to me.”

As soon as Isabella left, Robin shrugged helplessly, looking at Count de Champagne who stood beside him, looking at Robin with a large smile on his lips. And then Henry broke into a merry, ringing laugh, signaling that he wasn’t angry with Robin for his wife’s indecent behavior. Robin himself was in an elated mood, but he didn’t comment on Isabella’s off-putting flirtatiousness.

“Robin of Locksley,” Henry de Champagne said, with a warm smile hovering over his lips. “You cannot imagine how happy I am that you are alive and have recovered from your grave injury.”

Robin let out a joyful laugh. “I am very glad to be alive.”

Count de Champagne approached Robin and made a scrupulous perusal of him, as if looking for signs of poor health in his appearance. “How are you now, Robin?”

“I am fine, Henry,” Robin murmured.

Henry frowned. “You seem healthy and fresh, as handsome as ever. Yet, I cannot believe that your injury has already healed completely.”

“It has been five months since I was stabbed. The wound has almost healed, but it still troubles me quite a lot if I am exhausted and strain my body too much,” Robin replied truthfully. “At times, my wound throbs in pain. In this case, I cannot sleep and still use painkilling herbs.”

“Maybe you will stay in Acre for several months to recuperate?”

Robin shook his head in disagreement. “I thank you for your hospitality, Henry, but I cannot delay my departure.” He emitted a heavy sigh. “I have a feeling of apprehension that the king needs me.”

Henry smiled. “King Richard always needs you. And he will be happy to see you alive. He was crushed down with grief after your death.” He sighed. “We all were shocked, but King Richard, Robert de Beaumont, Roger de Lacy, and your friend Much were almost dead inside.” He smiled. “Your wife, Melisende, was petrified with grief, too.”

Robin gave a sad smile. “They will see me soon.”

"I am going to drink for your health tonight and during all dinners I will have in the years to come," de Champagne announced, smiling merrily. “God be praised that your life was spared.”

“God be praised,” Robin echoed automatically.

Henry engulfed Robin in his arms, gentle and cautious to avoid hurting him.

“You are a good man, Robin,” de Champagne said as he drew back. “I am glad that we have a truce.”

Robin grinned. "I have done my best to have it with you, Henry.”

“If you are so determined to leave, Robin, then I wish you best of luck on the way home,” Henry said in sweetest tones. “Where are you going first?”

“To Aquitaine and then to England,” Robin answered.

“Godspeed, Robin. Please take care of yourself.”

“Thank you, Henry. I will.”

The happiest person to meet Robin in Acre was Carter, who had spent several months recovering from his nearly fatal wound and then around a month waiting for Robin‘s return. Carter introduced Friar Tuck to Robin, who asked Robin’s permission to escort them to England. Robin wasn’t fond of the Hospitallers, scoffing contemptuously that they posed as men of God while having so much blood on their hands. But as Tuck had taken good care of Carter after Djaq’s departure to Jerusalem, Robin was bound by honor to agree to have the friar as their companion.

Bassam had finally accepted Will’s relationship with his beloved niece and even allowed them to marry in the Arabic traditions. Yet, Will and Djaq didn’t want to stay in Acre; they told Robin that they would return to England with him. Djaq was worried about Robin’s health and was adamant to take care of her friend, fearing that he would suffer the consequences of his dreadful injury and there would be no competent medics in England to help him. Robin reminded them of their former decision to settle down in Acre, but Will and Djaq only shook their heads.

Dusk was settling over the Mediterranean Sea, turning the sea dark blue as it washed against the hull of a ship sailing from the port of Acre. At this magical hour between night and day, the water seemed to pause its churning waves, and the wind held its breath as the ship slid from the harbor into the unfathomable sea, away from the Holy Land. The sea was smooth like glass in the bright glow of the Middle-Eastern sun. A thick mist crawled from the water, slightly obscuring the vision.

Robin stood on the deck, his eyes taking in the distant yellow-tinted shores of Acre. He turned his gaze to the water and then glanced at the darkening sky, breathing in the salty fresh air with full lungs.

The setting sun exploded on the horizon, turning the water into a shade of red and orange, and afternoon colors changed to red too. Robin shielded his eyes with his hand against the vision, hating that it reminded him so much of death, agony, bloodshed, and truculence of war. All atrocities of a holy war he had witnessed in the Holy Land danced before his eyes in molten waves.

Carter approached Robin from the back. “How are you doing, Robin?”

Robin turned to face the blonde man. “I am just breathing fresh air.”

Robin withdrew a velvet-wrapped object from the pocket of his trousers and then unfolded it. He sighed as his gaze dropped to the object in his palm: it was a rather plain ring, but it was elegant, exquisite, and brilliant. In the fading daylight, he surveyed the silver ring of diamonds, lingering his gaze at the massive sapphire in the center, which was carved in the shape of a flower.

“What is it?” Carter inquired.

“It belongs to me now.” Twirling the ring in his fingers, Robin raised his head a notch higher to look at the heavens.

“It is a female ring.”

Robin looked back at Carter. “This is the ring I gave Marian on our first betrothal. I kept it with me throughout all these years.”

A look of surprise expanded on Carter’s face. “Why are you keeping it after what she did to you?”

Robin fell into thoughtfulness. “I kept this ring with me during all battles in the Holy Land. It was like my talisman, and I used to think that it saved my life many times,” he said, his voice laced with sentimental notes. In spite of all sorrow and pain Marian had brought to his life, his heart glowed with gladness as he looked at the ring. “I never told anyone that I still have it, and even Much doesn’t know that.”

Carter tried to sound as cheerful as he could, but he didn’t like Robin’s unfading attachment to Marian. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone that you still have it.”

“I know.”

"You are confused about your feelings," Carter finished for him.

"I am confused about everything around me," Robin said in a small voice as he wrapped the ring and put it back in the pockets of his trousers. "I don't know what I will find in England."

Robin's death had a colossal impact on both his health and his mind. He felt as if he had fallen into a dark and chasmal abyss, as if he were sinking in an ocean of confusion, trying to stay afloat but failing and, instead, drowning, as if something were dragging him back into the deep and black waters. He was mastered by a macabre fear, and his imagination was almost barren of the images that fed hope for a bright future. He fantasized that pain and mishap were about to take roots in his life, superseding gladness and enjoyment.

Robin also tried to struggle with uncertainty in his private life. His love sentiments underwent dramatic changes: now he was torn between Melisende and Marian. He thought of these two women simultaneously. He had dreams of them. He compared them with each other, finding that neither of them was ideal. He longed for each of them, and his divided heart troubled him to the core.

Once he had known his feelings and his heart – he had loved only Marian before meeting Melisende. But his death changed everything, and when he tried to realize whom he loved, he didn’t have a clue. His old life was shattered to pieces, and Robin lost his path in life. Was it one of the effects death had on him? Or were his changed feelings a figment of his imagination or some magic conjured by Arabian sorcerers?Why was he simultaneously thinking of Melisende, his wife, and Marian, his former betrothed? Did he love the two of them, or was he going mad?

Melisende was very dear to Robin. His heart filled with innate tenderness at the memory of her violet eyes darkened in passion and staring at him in reverent fascination and devotion, and a deep serenity slowly settled over him, warming and comforting him. The memory of the rare Plantagenet beauty made him tremble, and the most erotic thoughts flashed in his brain – he wanted his wife as much as he had never wanted any other woman, even Marian. Several days before the disaster in Imuiz, Melisende had confessed her love for him, and that memory sent a shiver of excitement through him. Now, as Robin remembered that, he was both thrilled and shocked with the realization that he treasured his wife’s love and he needed her like a man needed air to breathe.

Yet, Robin also remembered Marian’s sapphire blue eyes shimmering with tears, and only the sound of Marian’s name made his heart beat faster. He could almost hear Marian’s words of grief and her pleas for forgiveness which she had spoken to him in Imuiz, and the vision of her tear-stained face was embedded into his mind forever. At the memory of Marian’s hypnotizing sapphire eyes, he felt a blinding fire erupt in him, becoming nothing more than a raw nerve of chaotic sensual feelings. The cherished memories of the only time when Robin had taken her maidenhead in the woods sent a thrill of pleasure through his entire being and made his blood run faster through his veins.

Robin tried to distract himself by thinking of King Richard. However, his thoughts could find no resting place outside his love stories with Marian and Melisende. He had a strange feeling in his heart – _he presaged some awful misfortunes_ and had pervasive concerns. He had to come home. He had to find King Richard. He had to return to Melisende, Marian, and his friends. Darkness and light were fighting within him, but Robin refused to surrender to either of these forces, floating somewhere in between and balancing on the brink of ebony despair.

Robin stood on the deck staring somewhere in the air for a long time, too long to make Carter worried about his friend. “Robin, do you hear me?” Carter asked.

Robin smiled. “Yes, of course. I am sorry.”

“The Holy Land thing?” Carter gazed compassionately at him.

Robin nodded. “There was the time when I couldn’t imagine myself living beyond the point when a war would end.” His chest heaved. “But has it really ended?”

“I doubt it has ended.” Carter took Robin’s hand in his and gave it a quick squeeze. “We are leaving so many things behind… My brother died here…”

“Thomas was a good man. I liked him very much.”

Carter felt almost philosophical. “It was God’s will that he died.”

Robin stiffened at his words. “Oh.”

“Robin,” Carter called. “I know what you feel. I myself nearly died.”

Robin clasped his friend’s hand in his, looking into Carter’s eyes. “But we survived. It would have been terrible to lose you like we lost Thomas. Not you, Carter.”

There was a flicker of understanding in Carter’s eyes. “And I would have been heartbroken if we had lost you to death in these lands. It was not our fate to die here.”

“Goodbye, the Holy Land,” Robin whispered, his voice hardly coming out as emotions flooded through him. He felt as if the sword of Damocles were hanging over him, exposing him to all kinds of imminent peril. Perhaps, dozens of his dreams of death and bloodshed, which plagued since his first battle in Acre, only passed into another dream – life after his resurrection in constant fear of reality.

His fears didn’t diminish his desire to return to England whatsoever. On the contrary, never before had Robin felt such a strong longing for home – for England and for Locksley. Going home meant many things to him, but saying goodbye to the Holy Land meant more at the moment. He was relieved that he was leaving the Holy Land – hostile and brutal and unholy – forever. He would never come back to this damned place again, although the end of the Crusade was not the end of the war in his life.

The next morning, Robin emerged on the deck with the first ray of light. He didn’t sleep well during the night because the unexpected storm raged with a brutal violence; it was a normal thing for autumn. Robin heard the cries of the ship’s captain, his commands spoken in Norman-French, urgent, sharp, and clear. By sunrise, the storm subsided a little, but the waves were still sufficiently unpredictable.

Robin leaned forward above the water, as if he were untroubled by the pitching, rolling motion of the deck beneath his feet. He craned his neck as he watched the choppy water surge beneath him. At one moment it would seem close enough for him to reach down and touch the surface, and then within a heartbeat it swooped away and down, baring the entire side of the ship.

“What are you thinking of, Sir Robin?” Robin heard Friar Tuck‘s low baritone.

Robin turned his head to Tuck who stood next to him, his gaze cold and thorny; then he glanced up, at the grey sky. “I have been away from home for too long.”

Tuck glanced at him as if in surprise. “Happy to be going home?”

Robin sighed, not looking at Tuck. “Living in England is better than in Acre.”

“Sir Robin, what will you do after your return to England?”

“I will find King Richard, and then I will think of everything else.”

“Maybe you should think about the people in the first place, Sir Robin?”

An irritated Robin swung his gaze to the friar. “The king needs me.”

Tuck looked curious. “It will break your heart, but I can tell you that you haven’t learned your lesson yet. Are you Robin Hood? Or are you Robin of Locksley?”

Robin disliked Tuck, and his disapproval of the annoying friar was growing at a steady pace. “I am not the king’s man! I am not the people’s hero! I am Robin! I am only Robin!” he cried out, his eyes shooting daggers at Tuck, his visage fretted. “The man you have heard about in the Holy Land when you came there to kill the Saracens, like Carter and I did, vanished in a crimson foam of death.”

“Are you sure, Lord Huntingdon?” Tuck looked at the young man with a challenge. “Try to keep yourself out of trouble, Lord Robin. You are calling for trouble that might swallow you up.”

Tuck’s speeches were grating on Robin’s nerves. “What do you want from me?”

Tuck placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Sir Robin, do you really think that we cannot see through your words and your face? Don’t you imagine that we understand what pride you feel for what you accomplished in the Holy Land, having saved your king countless times? And if you are indeed ashamed of feeling proud of your heroics, it is alright that you feel so, but you mustn’t blame yourself as you only did your duty to your king and your country.”

Robin brusquely brushed his hand off of him and took a step back. “I see that you understand people… rather well.”

Tuck’s mouth curled in a smile, and he slanted his head to one side. “You are confused now, Sir Robin,” he surmised. His conversational spirit was roused more than before. “And God in Heaven knows that you require all the assistance he can send you.”

“Are you going to become my savior?” Robin coughed to clear his throat. “Purely for my own peace of mind, I ask you to leave me alone. I don’t need your lectures.”

“I think you need them to clear your head, Sir Robin,” Friar Tuck flung back.

His temper rising, Robin stepped further from the other man. “I am capable of helping myself.”

“Your king cannot help you, Sir Robin. You need God’s wise assistance,” Tuck said meaningfully. “There is the conflict of loyalties in your heart – loyalties to the king and to the people. You are both the king’s man and the people’s man, but you need to find a right balance.”

“I myself know what I need,” Robin growled.

Tuck smiled. “King Richard is a great man, and you would go with your king to the ends of the earth, even if you do not approve many of his actions.” His smile was gone. “And yet, you need to strike a balance between England and the people.”

Robin was barely holding onto his temper, and he was also deterred by the monk’s spine-tingling speech. “I will never say anything that can somehow discredit my king, my sovereign and my friend.”

They watched one another in silence for a while, Tuck with the strange light in his dark eyes and Robin with the wrath in his pale blue eyes.

Friar Tuck resumed speaking quietly. “I know that he is your friend, Sir Robin, and I don’t ask you to speak against the king. I want to say another thing.”

Robin cursed under his breath, and a thunderous scowl crossed his features. “You already know that I have never liked the Hospitallers.” There was an air of severity about him. Finally, his anger broke through his veneer of patience. “One more sermon, Friar Tuck, and I will throw you into the sea.” Then he turned around and hastened to return to his cabin.

“I recommend that you stop annoying my brother,” Archer said in acidulated tones as he appeared behind Tuck. “He is confused, but he is not in need of your advice.”

Tuck smiled. “I didn’t hurt Sir Robin.”

In the next moment, Carter, Will, and Djaq arrived at the deck. They stood behind Archer.

“You are confusing Robin. Stop doing this, Friar Tuck,” Djaq said angrily, taking up the thread of conversation. “He needs solitude and moral support, not your lectures.”

“I agree,” Carter broke in. “Tuck, I am grateful that you took care of me. Yet, if I had known that you would chase after Robin, I would have never allowed you to accompany us on our voyage.”

“Brother Tuck, you made Robin anxious. “Now Robin is emotionally unbalanced, and I would not try his temper if I were you,” Will said sulkily. His last quarrel with Robin was still fresh, and Robin’s distance from him increased; he only hoped they would move past one small argument soon.

Tuck merely nodded, unimpressed. “Sir Robin needs God’s help. He may lose himself now.”

The muscles in Archer’s jaw twitched as his eyes narrowed slightly. “Mind your business, Friar Tuck. Leave Robin alone. Or I will do what Robin promised – I will throw you aboard.”

“Have you, by God’s holy, thought that Sir Robin might be unable to find a right balance between light and darkness?” Friar Tuck was itching to make a high-spirited speech to explain his position. “Robin of Locksley is Robin Hood! He is England’s hero! He is the people’s hero! He is the last great hope England has! England needs its legend, and we must help him!”

 Archer cast a contemptuous glance at him. “So you want to become Robin Hood’s savior, right?”

Djaq smiled; she had never liked the friar. “Well, imagination may run wild.”

“Robin is not Robin Hood and even not Robin of Locksley. He is only Robin,” Carter intervened. “He needs time to adjust to the world, but he must do that without our help. Then time will come, and the legend will be reborn.”

“Very true words,” Will agreed with a smile.

“It goes without saying.” Archer nodded in Carter’s direction.

“Let’s give Robin privacy.” Djaq hoped that the monk would stop terrorizing Robin.

That was an understatement to say how deeply Friar Tuck was in disagreement with Robin’s friends. “I don’t agree with you. Even if he looks into his heart, he might not find the answer.”

“Then we will help Robin, and he won’t have nerve-racking moments like the ones you gave him,” Djaq fired back with sarcasm. “We will help him differently, without your annoyance and obtrusiveness.”

During the next several weeks, the ship stopped shortly in Limassol and on Rhodes, then headed to Palermo. Days were getting shorter, and winds were colder: the sea was crowded with ships hurrying to their harbors before the onset of the cold northern winter. The vessel caught the right wind, moving away from the shores of Italy towards Marseilles where Robin and his friends planned to disembark. They were finally heading home to face whatever fate decreed for them.

§§§

In the study at the Castle of Nottingham, Lady Isabella of Gisborne was accepting two important visitors – the Baron of Rotherham and the Earl of Spenser, who arrived from London to collect taxes in Nottinghamshire for Prince John. They also had certain excellent news for Isabella, who was one of them – the Black Knight loyal to John, whose bed she also warmed.

"Lady Isabella," the Baron of Rotherham began as they saw Isabella sitting in a high-back chair and looking at them. “I am happy to meet you tonight.” He bowed deeply to her.

“Lady Isabella, you are more beautiful than a goddess,” the Earl of Spenser greeted, bowing to her.

Isabella rose to her feet and sank into a small curtsey, only for formality. Then she sauntered across the chamber, moving towards the two men.

“My lords, I am pleased to see you, too,” Isabella purred. “How was your journey?”

“It was long and arduous in this awful weather, but, finally, we are here,” Spenser complained.

“We brought several letters from Prince John for you, my lady,” Rotherham notified. “The prince misses you very much and sends you his undying love.”

Isabella laughed. “And when will I be able to see the prince? When will he become king?”

“King Richard has already been taken care of,” Spenser informed proudly.

“So he will be… dead soon?” Isabella questioned.

“King Richard is not dead yet, but he has already been captured somewhere near Vienna,” the Baron of Rotherham enlightened. “Prince John got the news from King Philippe of France a week ago.”

Spenser clapped his hands in delight. “The lion is caged now!”

“Oh, this is a historical event,” Isabella replied, shaking her head. She was still unable to believe that Vaisey’s plan worked and that one of the foreign rulers – Richard’s enemies – had kidnapped the king.

“Well, Prince John is happy. We all are happy. Life is great,” the Earl of Spenser retorted.

Rotherham’s visage darkened instantly. “Prince John will be happy only when the king is dead. Lord Vaisey’s plan was very ingenious, and it worked without a hitch, buying the Black Knights more time to get rid of King Richard and consolidate our forces within the Angevin Empire.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “The Earl of Buckingham made a great deal with King Philippe of France and Duke Leopold of Austria, but the negotiations were only about King Richard’s capture.”

“That’s why now the Black Knights need a lot of money,” Spenser continued. “Prince John ordered to raise taxes again to collect the amount necessary to pay Duke Leopold for the King Richard’s murder.”

Isabella smiled. “And will Duke Leopold agree?”

Rotherham folded his arms over his chest. “Duke Leopold agreed not to declare officially that the king was captured for several months, but he requested a great amount of money to kill the king.”

“I am sure that Prince John will eventually command us to kill King Richard with our forces,” the Earl of Spenser speculated. Then he gave a low laugh. “I told Prince John that we should just go to Germany, sneak into the castle where Richard is held as a prisoner, and then assassinate him.”

Isabella blinked, and then she flashed a satisfied smile. “Well, I think it will be difficult to kill King Richard if he is held in an unfamiliar castle in an unknown location.”

Rotherham chortled. “You are an intelligent lady. You understand everything.”

Spenser guffawed. “Yeah, King Richard is caged! He is lost to his subjects! England has no king!”

They laughed merrily as they envisioned Richard the Lionheart locked in a small cell in one of the Austrian castles. The Baron of Rotherham and the Earl of Spenser were genuinely pleased with the sensational news about the king, but Isabella was very anxious, for she instinctively felt that everything wasn’t as bright as Prince John hoped. She feared to imagine the dire consequences for all of them if the king wasn’t killed and managed to escape; he would probably be ransomed, but Queen Eleanor was held captive, which negated the chances for Richard to gain his freedom back.

“The news is really great,” Isabella said. “As a matter of fact, my lords, the servants are setting up our dinner table. Let’s go to the great hall.”

“Great idea,” Rotherham stated, politely offering Isabella his hand.

Spenser smiled. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Isabella.”

Isabella took Rotherham’s hand. “Let’s go, my lords. I believe the dinner has already been served.”

In an hour, Isabella, Spenser, and Rotherham finished their small feast and retired to their chambers.

Dawn was breaking when Lady Megan Bennet of Attenborough stood in the empty study in the castle. She wore a mask and was wrapped in a black velvet cloak, and she was unrecognizable unless she was stripped of her disguise. She stood near a table, looking through the papers received by Isabella that day. As her adroit fingers worked, she strained her ears and listened to the sounds outside the room, but everything around was quiet.

The study was nearly dark. It was very hot in the chamber that was warmed by the hearth where logs were burning in a clear gold flame. Isabella liked when it was very, very warm in her house or castle since the time when Guy and she had roamed over Normandy and had slept outdoors when they had been short of money to pay for a room in an inn and there had been no convent nearby. Thus, the fire in the hearth was always burning even in nighttime. A faint glow gave an orange cast to the area near the hearth; a single candle burned on the table where Meg stood, affording just a whisper of light.

Megan continued working with Isabella’s correspondence, looking through various letters, parchments, and documents. In the past three weeks, she regularly, almost every week, sneaked into the castle, got to the study, and then checked Isabella’s correspondence, hoping to discover something about the King of England and the Queen Mother. Yet, she found nothing, thinking that the prince was extremely accurate not to admit information leakages, which meant nothing good at all. She often opened Isabella’s private letters from John, which were full of endearments and compliments, all of them too sweet to be true. Even in these intimate letters, there was no hint on King Richard’s fate.

Megan took the rolled parchment stamped with Prince John’s personal seal, smiling as she saw on the parchment the mighty words "My beloved Isabella, mistress of my heart,” inscribed in the beginning of the letter in black calligraphic handwriting. It was Prince John’s latest love letter to Isabella. It was exactly what she needed, and she planned to open the letter as usual.

Megan Bennet was able to read parchments and letters without breaking the seals. She always acted in the same fashion: she detached a pendent seal by cutting the cords or strips of a parchment, unrolled it and looked through it, and then attached new cords of the same color to the parchment, knotting them inside the seal. To attach new cords, she only needed either flame from the candle and some beeswax or a needle and stitches. It was a complicated procedure, and every case of detaching a seal was individual in its complexity, but Megan could perform such actions masterfully and quickly. She had learned to do that a long time ago, at the Queen Mother’s court, serving as a spy.

She smiled as she detached the seal and began reading the letter. As usual, this time, it again contained only empty phrases about Isabella’s beauty and numerous professions of the prince’s enormous love for his mistress. Knowing the prince’s lecherous nature, Megan laughed in her mind at the thought of how many women received the same from John.

All at once, Megan felt the ground trembling beneath her legs. She stopped reading as her eyes fixed on the paragraph where Prince John mentioned that King Richard had been captured by Leopold of Austria somewhere near Vienna. Her eyes scanned the small paragraph, where the prince wrote that he was going to negotiate with Duke Leopold the terms and conditions of transfer of the king in his custody, which would allow John to isolate Richard in one of the castles he controlled and then dispose of him.

 _King Richard was not free and wasn’t coming back to England – the king had been captured!_ She shook her head in shock, thinking that she despised Prince John for what he had done to his own brother. She was so angry that she had to stop reading, but since she had no one on whom to vent her wrath on, she could only silently curse over and over again. Beads of cold sweat broke out on her forehead as it was too hot in the room and she was too anxious too. She wanted to get out of the castle, and she decided to take the parchment with her; she needed the proof of what had happened to Richard.

Suddenly, she felt a movement beside her, and her eyes fell on a sword which a man held in his hand. The sight of the weapon made her turn her head, and she stared stupidly at the Baron of Rotherham who stood beside her, smiling insidiously.

Megan shuddered in shock. She almost fell back. Rotherham looked like an unearthly ghost of a ghost – his skin was deathly pale and his gray eyes blazed. He looked unhealthy and was very lean. He wore a black and white doublet with large golden buttons, black flat pants, and a black taffeta shirt. The black color of his attire made his face unnaturally wan, as if he were a dead man walking. His excessive paleness stemmed from his sickness in the aftermath of his lingering lung wound.

After the Baron of Rotherham had been severely wounded in Acre by Sir Edmund of Cranfield, the Earl of Middlesex, in the massacre in the Crusaders’ camp, he had spent many months recovering in his estates in Rotherham. On the way back from the Holy Land, he had contracted a high fever and had nearly died in the arms of Buckingham and Durham, who had nursed him back to life. Edmund’s blade had pierced his right lung, and a doctor had notified him that the injury would never heal, which shortened his lifespan. Although he physically recovered his strength, he still had a terrible cough and was very thin; even if he ate a lot and his appetite was generally good, he didn’t gain excessive weight.

Every muscle of Megan’s body was trembling. Rotherham’s sudden appearance in the study instilled terror into her heart. Horrified, she envisaged the realities: his one hand was at his side, while in the other he carried the sword – he was armed and she was alone with him.

Megan gasped for air, her expression evolving into horror. “Lord Rotherham,” she whispered.

The Baron of Rotherham made a mocking bow, laughing at her. “Lady Megan Bennet of Attenborough,” he said with a waspish smile on his thin lips. “Welcome to the Castle of Nottingham, my lady.”

She threw him a scornful glance. Gathering her wits, she said sarcastically, “You are a knight in a shining armor if you want to intimidate a woman with this sword.”

“Holy Christ Almighty!” Rotherham swore, ignoring the vitriol she had just thrown at him. “You still have a spirit, my dear! You haven’t changed since I met you last time in Poitiers.” He smiled nastily. “You are arrogant and fearless as a tigress, and you are also as witty as Queen Eleanor herself.”

“And you are pale and thin like a dying beggar,” she threw a jibe at him.

Rotherham growled between clenched teeth as rage coursed through him. He put the blade to Megan’s throat. “You are too sharp-witted, Lady Megan. I should cut it right now.”

Megan glanced over her tormentor. He stood near her, creeping toward her with the sword scraping the skin of her throat. Terror filled her, and she shuddered in rage mingled with dread, but she steeled herself against these emotions. She had to be strong, somehow outwit him, and flee.

“You won’t cut my tongue, and we both know that,” she said in a plaintive voice. “And I would be ever so grateful if you please take the blade away from my throat, milord.”

Rotherham smiled. “Lady Megan, you are beautiful and desirable, although you lack politeness tonight.” He removed the blade and heard her sigh with relief.

She forced a wan smile. “Thank you.”

The covetous hunger gleamed in his smoldering eyes. “You are the most beautiful woman among all those whom I know. You always looked beautiful on feasts and festivities when I saw you at court.” He touched her cheek. “So many men wanted to marry you, and so did I.”

“Nonsense,” Megan said, laughing. “The most beautiful women are Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, as well as Lady Melisende Plantagenet, Prince John’s cousin, Robin of Locksley’s wife, and, of course, Princess Joan Plantagenet, Dowager Queen of Sicily and Countess of Toulouse.”

“You are more to my liking,” Rotherham answered. “Lady Megan, you are irresistible.”

Her gaze shot to his, suddenly impenetrable. “You exaggerate, my lord.”

“I know that I look rather pale,” the Baron of Rotherham replied, his expression a mixture of outrage and grief. “It is due to my injury. I spent a plenty of time in my estates in Rotherham, near the ancient and large forests, covering the greater part of the beautiful hills and valleys which lie between Sheffield and the noble seats of Wentworth and of Warncliffe Park.” He ground his teeth. “But fresh air didn’t help me recover completely; it only sped up my partial recovery.”

“I am sorry, milord,” Megan put in hastily, unnerved by his advances.

“My sweetheart, it is fine,” Rotherham retorted, a smile on his lips. “I was reported that the man who wounded me is already dead. I don’t have to kill him with my own hands.”

She flapped the parchment in her hand. “What do you want?” she switched to another theme.

“Give me this,” he croaked, and then he snatched out the parchment.

She swallowed hard, fearing that her voice would quiver when she spoke. “You have already taken it, although you didn’t ask for my permission.”

Rotherham scanned Prince John’s letter Megan had opened. “Oh, Lady Megan! I have always suspected that you are Queen Mother’s spy.” He sniggered. “Now I have a confirmation.”

“It is out of your business,” she said dismissively.

He looked immensely pleased. “This is my deal because now you know our little secret!”

Megan stared at him aghast, her eyes gleaming with anger. “You committed an act of high treason, Lord Rotherham! You and your friends, the Black Knights, are traitors!”

“Lady Megan, do you realize what you led yourself to?” Rotherham asked with the same smile that sent shivers down her spine. “No, you have no idea, you stubborn, willful, headstrong, and stupid lady.”

“What are you going to do to me?” she inquired with a petulant frown.

He gave her a felonious grin, a sense of victory filling him. “Lady Megan, you are a special woman.” He eyed her, and his eyes sparkled with desire. “You have a passionate nature, and it drives me to a dangerous carelessness, for I want you wildly and right now.”

“What… do you… want to say, my lord?” she stammered.

“Lady Megan, I love you.” His voice was thick with emotion. “I love you.” He looked at her, at a loss for words for a while. He let out a deep breath and then went on. “I need to marry and have heirs.” He paused, giving her time to digest his words. “You refused to marry me two years ago when I proposed to you in Aquitaine. I am asking you for the last time. Will you marry me, my lady?"

Megan shook her head. “Never, Rotherham.” Then she smacked his cheek with her hand.

She tried to run away, but Rotherham grabbed her forearm. “Wait, my lady. If you don’t want me now, you will fall for me in some time. Or you will pay with your life, you unmarried bitch.”

“Go to hell, you scoundrel,” she hissed at him as she made a step back.

The Baron of Rotherham cursed. His face was set in a grim mask as he waded over to Megan and slapped her hard across the face. He bent down and grabbed her by the arms, pulling her so close to him that their faces were only inches apart.

“If you were a man, I would have killed you now,” Rotherham said in a menacing voice.

Her voice cracked the second she spoke. “No…”

“Yes.” With an evil chuckle, he rammed his fist into her face.

Megan blinked several times as if to clear away a blur of tears. She bit her tongue, and a thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. In a daze, she saw the smiling face of her captor bending over her. She tried to give him a fight, but his second punch almost rendered her unconscious. Her head was swimming, her temples hurting, and there was a strange ringing sound in her ears. All her wits were numbed, and all that emerged was her fear and her realization that she was trapped.

Her eyes narrowed, and the fire of scorching hatred rekindled with a new strength. “Then kill me!” She challenged him, but she was afraid of death, and tears welled in her eyes. 

A leering Rotherham taunted her, “Look at yourself, Lady Megan: you are crying like a ninny! At least at court, you were arrogant and brilliant, but now you are nothing. You are worthless.”

They heard footsteps coming along the hall as someone hurried to find the source of alarm. Then the door flung open, and Isabella stood at the doorway. Blamire and several guards were behind her.

“What happened, Rotherham?” Isabella questioned. “Why cannot I sleep this night calmly?”

“We have an intruder,” Blamire stated.

“The Queen Mother’s spy,” the Baron of Rotherham articulated. He laughed, roughly pushing Megan forward. “Take her to Gisborne to the underground hell.”

Isabella smiled. “Very well,” she uttered. “Blamire, do what Lord Rotherham suggested.”

Megan’s eyes widened with fear. She extricated out of Rotherham’s grasp and backed away, but the baron was physically stronger. He seized hold of her hands and pushed her towards Blamire. In an instant, she felt cold steel on the skin of her wrists as Blamire shackled her, smiling at their new prisoner. Megan tried to struggle with the guards, but Blamire slammed his fist into her jaw, and her body went limp in his arms; she passed out and could no longer fight for her freedom.

Megan was taken by the guards to the underground dungeons. The Baron of Rotherham followed them step by step, while Isabella chose to stay in the castle. Blamire opened the heavy iron door, and the guards dragged the unconscious woman inside. They threw her on a damp straw mattress in the corner of the cell, and then unshackled her. They wanted to chain her to the wall, but Rotherham prohibited them from doing that; he refused to be excessively harsh with the lady whose spirit he planned to break in order to coerce her into matrimony.

The Baron of Rotherham shook his head. “No, that’s more than enough.”

“Yes, my lord,” Blamire obeyed.

Rotherham burst into laughter. “Oh, look whose company our dear lady will have.” His gaze slid to the adjacent cell. “Gisborne won’t be so lonely now.”

“Maybe we should place her somewhere else,” Blamire suggested.

“The lady will go either to hell or to the altar with me,” Rotherham said harshly. “It is not necessary.”

Blamire bowed to the baron. “As you wish, my lord.”

They slammed the door of the adjacent cell behind them, Guy of Gisborne scrambled to his feet from his mattress. He had lain motionless and speechless while they had talked in order not to attract attention to him; he had overheard the strange exchange between the Baron of Rotherham and Blamire; he had recognized Rotherham’s voice as soon as the man had uttered a word. He figured out that something uncommon had happened, but he had ceased to have any interaction with the world a while ago, and there was life for him beyond the darkness of his cell.

Guy shuffled towards the grating that separated his cell from the adjacent one. He peered into the darkness, trying to understand whom Rotherham and Blamire had just apprehended. Guy was puzzled when he heard that the prisoner was a female, for if Rotherham ordered to lock a high-born lady in the underground hell, then it meant that she had committed something grave against Isabella, one of the Black Knights, or probably even Prince John.

He stood near the grating, looking into the darkness. He could hear only the sound of drops of water dripping from the ceiling and hitting the stone floor. He could see only the outlines of a female figure under her cloak, for it was too dark in the dungeons and she lay on her mattress far from him. He concluded that she was unconscious, for she didn’t move and speak, which meant that she had been knocked out before being incarcerated.

Guy watched the unconscious lady for a long time. As minutes slipped by, he realized that the lady had been unconscious and would probably not wake for hours. “Poor girl,” he said to himself.

As it was useless to stand there, Guy returned to his straw mattress and lay there, staring up, at the ceiling, and thinking of the mysterious young woman. Someone else – an innocent youth – was suffering at the hands of the Black Knights, and it made Guy’s blood boil in anger. But there was an egoistic feeling of relief, too: at least now he wasn’t alone in the underground hell.

In the last weeks, Guy had been feverish and had thought that he had been dying. While his fever had ravaged his body, he hadn’t eaten at all and had lost much weight. Of course, he hadn’t been tortured again, for Blamire had damaged him more than enough immediately after his arrest. Once Isabella had come to the dungeons to look at her broken and sick brother, his back red and bloody, each and every patch of the skin on his back covered with numerous cuts, welts, and burns.

In delirium, Guy hadn’t recognized where he was and had muttered something unclear about Marian, Allan, Robin, and King Richard. He had also lamented something about the deaths of his parents in the fire, always cursing King Henry and Roger of Gisborne, which had enraged Isabella, for she held the memory of her father sacred. At times, in the brief moments of his consciousness, the reason seeped back into his fevered brain, and Guy had remembered that he had been arrested by Prince John’s guards. In such moments, Guy had been caught in a whimsical mesh of unreality bordered by the real life, and Guy had wondered whether he had lost his mind or whether he had already died.

When he had been sick, Guy had lain only on his back, chained and shackled. His fever had broken in about three weeks after the first barbaric torture, but for some time he had been so weak that he couldn’t move even a hand and couldn’t speak. Doctor Blight had told him that he had been close to death for more than a month. However, his sickness saved him from more pain and further humiliation and degradation which he would have been subject to if he had been put to the rack again.

His recovery was slow and painful, but with the help of Blight’s herbs and therapy, Guy was able to walk around his cell in two weeks after awakening. His recovery was still incomplete and caused him great emotional instability as the realization of what his own sister was capable of doing to him was pressing on him with a strong pain and a mortifying feeling of his guilt as he thought back to the events of the distant past, mentally acknowledging his role in the creation of the monster Isabella had become. 

As soon as he could move, Guy examined his own body. He couldn’t see his back, but he supposed that he had scars there, and some of the cuts and welts were still raw. Now Guy had a long and ugly scar on his left side, which he had obtained with during his first attempt to escape. As he saw it, Guy cringed at the sight of his puckered flesh surrounded by his otherwise flawless skin, exactly in the same place where he had stabbed Robin in the fateful Saracen attack. Guy’s scar mirrored Robin’s old scar, and that made him feel closer to Robin. Since he had found this scar, Guy often traced it with his fingers, remembering Robin and repenting of having stabbed him from the back with the curved dagger that he had injured Marian – or the Nightwatchman – with before their first failed wedding.

When the sheriff’s guards had once captured Robin and Guy had flogged the bold outlaw brutally and almost to a state of being half dead, Guy had noticed a similar scar on Robin’s left side. At that time, Guy had been pleased that the handsome and invincible Robin Hood had at least one scar from his blade. Yet, he had cringed at the sight of the wicked scar marred Robin’s flesh, for it had contrasted starkly with the other parts of Hood’s lithe body. It had been quite childish, but Guy had vaunted over Robin, satisfied that he had managed to give his sworn foe such a visible imperfection.

God had granted him almost the same scar, and Guy reckoned that it was a sort of retribution for what he had done to Robin. After he himself had been wounded in the same area by one of his former loyal men, Guy realized how difficult Robin’s recovery should have been, although Hood’s wound was surely much more dangerous, almost a fatal one, for the blade hadn’t pierced his heart only thanks to sheer luck and the fact that Robin had moved his arm while shooting a moment before being stabbed by Guy.

Gisborne had been informed that his marriage to Marian had been annulled by the Archbishop of Canterbury at Prince John’s request on the grounds of her pre-contract with the Earl of Buckingham. At first, he hadn’t believed Isabella, but she had explained all details to him, and he had pieced the story together only with a negligible amount of effort. The loss of Marian was another loss in his life, one of some many losses he had already sustained. In the freshness of his new loss, his wretched existence seemed worse than death! Guy had failed to protect Marian, had failed to save Robin, and had failed even to escape from his prison. Why was God laughing at him? Why was he so miserable?

Guy recalled the Earl of Buckingham’s strange interest in his marriage, which the man had showed during their conversation in the sheriff’s study. On that evening, Buckingham had entered the chamber through the secret door in the study, and they had talked about the earl’s errand to align Prince John with more Norman and Poitevin nobles. Although it had happened more than a year ago, Guy still remembered that Buckingham had been displeased with the news about Marian’s marriage to him. Now Guy understood why the earl had felt that way.

Isabella told Guy that Buckingham had fallen in love with Marian when he had seen her in the castle. The earl wished to marry her, and Prince John had nothing against pleasing his grand favorite.

The news about Vaisey’s involvement into the business with Marian’s betrothal to Buckingham puzzled Guy. When the Earl of Buckingham had returned to England from the continent, he had been outraged that Guy had married Marian. Yet, he hadn’t been allowed to protest against Guy’s marriage because Vaisey had asked the Prince to prevent Buckingham from appealing to the church to have the marriage declared null and void. But Buckingham had kept the betrothal agreement and had lied in wait for Guy’s fall from the sheriff’s good graces. After Guy’s betrayal in Acre, Vaisey had backed down from supporting a sham of Guy’s marriage, and then Prince John had decided to remunerate the Earl of Buckingham with Marian’s hand in a marriage.

Guy didn’t wish Marian to marry the Earl of Buckingham. Despite the bitterness of his wounded spirit, he would have reconciled with his loss if Marian had left him to be alone or if she had wanted to be with Robin of Locksley, but he couldn’t accept that she would be forced to marry Buckingham. Surprisingly, the thought of Marian and Robin’s possible marriage didn’t cause him as strong pain as it had caused him before; he was astonished by the realization, but it also brought a strange relief to him.

Guy wanted Robin Hood to be alive and save King Richard and Marian. He regretted that Robin Hood was dead. “Robin, why did you need to die in Acre? You would have saved Marian now!” Guy thought as he lay in the darkness. “I have lost everything, except for my goddamned life.”

He considered himself the most foolish criminal in the annals of crime. He believed that power would bring him happiness and appeasement, but it didn’t happen and would never happen now. Now Guy wished to die, already feeling half dead. He envied Robin of Locksley who had died a heroic death in the Holy Land, saving King Richard’s life from the sheriff. He would have gladly swapped places with Robin! He would have given his life for King Richard and Robin Hood with pleasure and eagerness if only it had meant that he would avoid spending another day in the dungeons and that he would be spared from dying an ignominious death at his sister’s order.

For the first time in his life, Guy of Gisborne felt as if he were nothing and nobody. He was a less intelligent, less clever, less cunning, less conniving, less desperate, and less crafty criminal than Sheriff Vaisey had ever been. At least, Vaisey was an imposing and outstanding criminal, whose wicked deals required tremendous audacity and had exorbitant sadistic grandeur. The sheriff was regarded by everyone with a mixture of terror and disgust, but never with pity. But Guy became a truly miserable and pitiful creature! In contrast to Guy, the sheriff had died at his former henchman’s blade and had gone straight to hell, and his death was better than the one Guy would have.

At first, Guy had hoped that Allan, Little John, and Much would save him, but over time he had stopped hoping. He didn’t doubt that Much and Little John were more than pleased never to see him again. He wanted to believe that Allan would launch a rescue attempt, for his former right-hand man seemed to be his friend, but over time his hopes vanished. Even if the outlaws checked the dungeons, they wouldn’t find him because he was in the underground prison, not in usual dungeons. Guy hoped that King Richard would return and Prince John would lose power, which would mean Isabella’s removal from her position; but it didn’t happen, and his sister continued coming to him to gloat.

There was no hope left for Guy, and presently he was unable to ward off a feeling of complete despair, assaulting him in waves day and night and passing through his body like the heat from the flames of the inferno. He thought that he had been an idiot to disregard the seriousness of the king’s warning not to return to Nottingham before Richard himself stepped on the English soil. Yet, it was already too late to regret, lament, and complain. All that was left to Guy was darkness, loneliness, and emptiness; he also had much time to wallow in self-pity and self-loathing.

He confessed to himself that he was afraid of death and even of the afterlife, fearful that he would go to hell to pay for the crimes he had committed on earth. He wasted his life on his meaningless quest for power and wealth, and his life was utterly misspent. In the afterlife, he wouldn’t meet Robin of Locksley, his mother Ghislaine, and probably even Roger of Gisborne, if the man was in Heaven after all his dastardly deeds. He was doomed to suffer eternal damnation. Such were Guy’s thoughts in those dark hours.

For the first time since his boyhood, Guy began to think of Jesus Christ and church. It was pure and desperate madness to think of God after he had committed so many heinous crimes. But there was no other choice – he could appeal only to God for the absolution of his sins and for a chance to atone. Guy prayed much harder than he had done in childhood, pleading with God to give him a chance for salvation so as he could help Marian and his friends. He beseeched to let King Richard return and stop his vile brother. He prayed that there was still some chance for him to become a better man.

Now Guy again turned to the Lord. He rose from his mattress and sank to his knees. “Show me your way, oh Lord, and grant me your wisdom to see what I never saw before,” he prayed fervently.

 Days flowed into nights that in the prison seemed endless and entirely black, as if days had been abolished after Guy’s capture. At night, Guy prayed more fervently, with more devotion to God. He prayed for many hours, watching an achingly slow progress of the passing time, discerning that a night was over only because of the bleak light that penetrated his cell from the small window above his mattress. He often stood on his knees and prayed until his legs were numb.

Guy crossed himself. “Lord, grant me a chance to atone for what I did to others, when I lived in sin and was obtuse or blind to see that I was ruining my own life with my greed, lust for power, and thirst for revenge. Help me rescue Marian and this innocent woman whom they took here.” He unselfishly wanted to save innocent lives, even Megan’s life, although he didn’t know her. “I swear that if I survive, I will become a better man.” He just hoped that God really existed and could hear him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last few chapters were mostly about Guy and the outlaws, and I neglected Robin Hood a little bit. As I promised to several readers, this chapter is mostly about Robin. I missed Robin terribly, for Robin is my favorite character, although I am a Guy fan too (I like Guy mostly for his complexity).
> 
> Robin is emotionally fragile, and he hasn’t recovered physically yet. But now Robin is back in action, and he is heading home, only to find out that King Richard disappeared on the way from Acre, Marian was taken prisoner by Prince John, Guy was arrested, and the outlaws went on separate paths. Robin has a hard work to do in England that is in anarchy during the king’s absence.
> 
> I am propelling Robin’s conflict of loyalties between his loyalty to King Richard, to his women he loves (Marian and Melisende, now he is torn between them), and to his people, but you surely understand that in this story Robin cannot abandon the king, his brother and friend, so you can already predict the resolution of this conflict in Robin’s life. Will Robin cut the mustard upon his return and save the king? Maybe. You need to be patient, for you will have the answer only in part 3 “Fight for Peace”.
> 
> I started developing Robin’s disillusionment arc after his awakening in Jerusalem, but so far you didn’t have a chance to see the deep and profound effect of death on Robin. In this chapter, you finally see what I meant: now Robin is a different man – he is a disillusioned and disappointed idealist who is also very confused about his feelings. On the show, Robin is as an idealist who believes that he fights for universal peace and absolute justice – for the noble things that, however, don’t exist in reality. But death destroyed Robin’s old world and changed his perception of life – the old Robin Hood is dead, and you will see more profound changes in him soon.
> 
> Megan is in a great trouble as she was captured by the Baron of Rotherham in Isabella’s study, but at least now she is aware of King Richard’s capture in Austria. In one of the previous chapters, Megan and her father talked about Rotherham whom she rejected, and now the vile man has a chance to pay her back for that rejection. And Megan is in the underground dungeons, together with Guy!
> 
> I am continuing to develop Guy’s redemption arc, and I hope that you see that Guy is a changed man, too, in many ways. The depth of Guy’s repentance is already deep, and I personally think that the changes I am portraying in Guy come across as natural and organically flowing from his storyline. Guy is suffering, like Robin suffered when he lay dying in fever after Vaisey had stabbed him. Guy’s current sufferings will cleanse him and make him stronger; they are an essential part of his redemption.
> 
> Friar Tuck won’t be featured prominently in the storyline. It might be discourteous of me to say I have never liked Tuck in the series. I wasn’t fond of his plan to have Much, Little John, and Allan captured only because he wanted to help Robin become his normal self again. And Tuck cared too much about the legend of England. My Tuck is genuinely worried about Robin as the man, and will be a little different: he and Robin will become friends over time, and Tuck will help Robin to make peace with himself, understanding that for Robin there is no balance between his loyalties.


	16. Innocents in the Dungeons

**Chapter 16**

**Innocents in the Dungeons**

There was a deathlike, ominous silence in the underground dungeons, in which Guy was totally engrossed in contemplating his past mistakes. The night lasted two hours longer, and then a cold light began to creep through the small window located near the ceiling, at the surface level.

Guy lifted himself into a sitting position on his mattress and examined his cell; then he fixed his eyes on the adjoining cell. Suddenly, he distinguished the outlines of a slender female in the semidarkness: she stood near the wall there, looking up at the window, and her beautiful and intelligent face revealed sad astonishment as her eyes took in her surroundings; she swiveled and peered into the darkness as she remarked a shadow that moved behind the grating that separated two cells.

Megan gasped as her eyes locked with Guy’s. She rushed to the opposite wall of her cell, but then she stopped, looking at the prisoner with attention and instinctively feeling that she had already seen him a while ago. She leaned against the wall, her heart in her throat as her mind drifted back to the day when she had narrowly escaped arrest by Prince John’s guards. The realization came as a very great shock to her: the unknown prisoner was the man who had saved her life from a thief months ago.

“My God! You!” an abashed Megan exclaimed.

Megan was bewildered to see what had happened to the appearance of the handsome traveler whose bravery had made her heart beat faster on that fateful day. When she had met Guy for the first time, he had looked unkempt and weary, but now he seemed so drastically different. She gazed in amazement at the man with long, thick, black hair and a long, black beard, thinking that he looked like a man who didn’t use a barber’s services for at least half a year.

There were dramatic changes in Guy due to malnutrition. He had lost much weight, and his face was oval and lengthened. His smirking mouth assumed the firm and marked lines which betokened deep-seated pain and sorrow in him. His eyes were full of deep melancholy and anxious contemplation. His skin was very pale, and his features resembled aristocratic handsomeness of the Normans. There was an imprint of wretchedness and abjectness on Guy, and it didn't slip Megan’s notice.

Guy made a ceremonious bow. “Good morning, my lady,” he greeted her in a deep, hollow voice.

“Good morning, sire.”

He smirked. “Do I look different?” He guessed where her train of thought was going.

Megan gave a slight nod. “Yes.”

“I am sorry if my looks disappoint you.”

She blinked, then glanced away. “I am sorry for my reaction. You don’t look awful.”

“Ah!” Guy exclaimed, as if he were deeply affected. “Spare me your empty compliments, my lady.”

A surprised Megan turned to him, and their gazes locked, but she hurriedly looked away again, and his eyes drifted to the window. The sun had already risen, but the light was so faint in the dungeons that Megan didn’t perceive the pallor that spread over Guy's visage, and she couldn’t notice the nervous heaving of his chest and his shoulders. A breathless silence prevailed, during which they weren’t looking at each other.

“You have recognized me, haven’t you?” Megan spoke at last in a loud, clear voice.

“Silence!” Guy almost hissed as he turned to her. He knew the delicate sense of hearing in the dungeons. “For Heaven's sake, don’t speak so loudly! Otherwise, guards will come here!”

“Oh, I understand,” she said in a much quieter voice.

“Now tell me what you are doing here,” he continued straightforwardly. “Didn’t your adventure with a thief teach you that willfulness and desperation might kill you?”

Megan scowled at him. “It is not your deal.”

He chuckled. “Oh, of course. I am sorry that I have forgotten how willful and stubborn you can be.”

“You are a nasty man,” she snapped. Then she walked away.

Guy returned to his own mattress and sat down there. Megan didn’t speak to him for at least an hour, sitting on her straw mattress in the corner of her own cell, with her legs crossed under her in the Eastern fashion. Although she wasn’t looking at him, Guy watched her from the corner of his eye, with sheer amazement that she had become his companion in the underground hell.

Soon, curious to learn more about each other, Guy and Megan returned to the grating. For a moment, they were quiet, scrutinizing one another.

“Who are you? Why did they arrest you?” he asked, his heart thundering in his chest.

She cast a prying glance at him. “And who are you?”

“I think that you have heard about me a lot in Nottingham,” he replied, the corners of his lips quirking in a ghost of a smile. “I am Sir Guy Fitzcorbet of Gisborne.”

Megan gasped. Tales about Guy’s life and his hellish crimes haunted her for so long, and she had been very curious and eager to see the black-hearted monster with her own eyes. And now she was so close to the very man, whose dark personality had awakened her interest when she had heard the first outrageous tale of Guy and his cruelty. She could feel the frantic beat of her own heart, and she took a deep, steadying breath. Emotions tumbled through her core at the speed of velocity – disbelief, amazement, bewilderment, fear, curiosity, thrill, and excitement.

She smiled to herself, trying to hold back a laugh of disbelief. “I cannot believe that the dark demon of Nottingham became my savior.”

He marveled at the turn of events and involuntarily smiled back. “It appears so.”

“Well, I have never expected to be saved by Sir Guy of Gisborne of all the people in Nottingham.”

“I am no longer Sir Guy. I was stripped of all my titles and lands by Prince John.” He sighed heavily. “I am just a miserable prisoner accused of the murder I didn’t commit.”

Megan flashed a wan smile. "I know that you are not as awful as they say of you.”

He frowned, surprised; he looked away. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged elegantly. “I have heard a lot about you, Sir Guy, but our common friend warned me not to believe that you were an irredeemable vile man.” She laughed at his confused expression. “Her words were that you aren’t as bad as people think of you, that you were misguided, and that you changed and finally broke from the sheriff by killing him.”

Guy glanced back at her, as if to seek a hidden meaning in her words. “Who are you, my lady? Who is this enigmatic friend we have in common?”

“Amicia,” she whispered. “Does this name tell you something?”

His eyes widened. “You know Amicia?”

She chuckled. “Oh, I know her very well. I grew up at court in Poitou, and Amicia has been my friend since my childhood, despite the fact that she is ten years older than me.”

He eyed her solemnly. “What is your name?”

A proud Megan replied, “ _I am Lady Megan Bennet of Attenborough._ In spite of being very young, I am the Queen Mother’s confidante.” Her expression was serious and haughty.

Guy‘s lips arched in an ironic smile. “I should have guessed that you are likely to be the famous Lady Megan Bennet, who rejected a legion of rich and powerful suitors and who managed to remain one of the very few maids at court in Aquitaine.”

Megan felt the heat rushing up to her face. “How did you manage to learn this about me?” Bending her head, she busied herself with clutching the collar of her cloak nervously. “I wasn’t very well-known in England because I lived in Aquitaine for years. Even after my father had moved back to Nottingham, I continued serving in Queen Eleanor’s household. I visited my father only thrice during the past five years; he himself usually came to Aquitaine.”

“I have heard many rumors about you at Prince John’s court.”

Her head shot up, and she stared at him, her deep blue eyes blazing with fire. “For your information, I hate Prince John’s court. If I stayed there even for a month, he would have noticed me and would have been impassioned to put me in his bed, and I would have rejected his advances bluntly.” She paused and breathed in deeply; she was clearly flustered. “Then the prince would have become my enemy.”

“Having Prince John as an enemy is not a good prospect for a young lady,” Guy opined glumly.

“But now I am Prince John’s enemy!”

Guy kept quiet for a while. “Lady Megan, did Prince John order the Baron of Rotherham to put you here? What did you commit against the prince?”

Megan glanced straight into Guy’s eyes, feeling lost in the steel blue depths and in the odd allure of his wretchedness. He was so handsome despite the fact that he was unkempt and dirty! She wished she didn’t feel that way about him, but at the same time she did. Guy was the first man who caused her heart to hammer so much harder in her chest and her stomach to erupt in frenzied butterflies. She wished she could just see him as a low criminal, but she couldn’t.

“I learned what they did to King Richard,” she informed him. She confessed to him unexpectedly to herself. For whatever reason, she didn’t feel herself in danger in his presence.

Guy looked abashed; alarm and fear crept into his heart. “Did they… kill… the king?” he stammered.

"No, they didn’t.” She didn’t intend to tell him more. “But they will try.”

He scowled. “The Black Knights won’t stop until they succeed.”

Giving Guy a mutinous look, Megan scoffed unpleasantly. “The only consolation is that the king is in a relative safety, and they won’t be able to send assassins to kill him. He is safe at least for a while.”

Guy visibly relaxed. The idea of Richard’s death was painful. He didn’t want his newly discovered half-brother, who had pardoned him, to be murdered by his younger brother just out of greed and ambitions for kingship. “Is the king coming home soon?” he inquired hopefully.

Megan’s expression grew shuttered. “I have to crush your hopes, Sir Guy.” She emitted a heavy sigh. “King Richard is not returning in the nearest future, but he is alive.” Her voice took a lower octave. She sighed bitterly and spoke. “He was taken captive by Prince John’s international allies. It seems that it was Sheriff Vaisey’s plan, and the Earl of Buckingham put it into effect.”

A silence stretched on as they directed unblinking and solemn stares at each other.

He cursed under his breath; he clenched his fists as rage coursed through him. “It seems that Vaisey did everything – possible and impossible – to dispose of the king after he failed in the Holy Land.”

She looked unconvinced in the trueness of his words. “You… regret that the king lost his freedom?”

Guy dropped his eyes to the floor. “Ah, I should have known that you are aware of the foul history of my past.” He sighed deeply and lifted his eyes to look at her, a look of pained shame plastered across his face. “I am a former Black Knight.”

She smirked noxiously. “I know that you tried to kill King Richard in Acre two and a half years ago and that you wounded Sir Robin of Locksley in the process. I have heard a lot about that Saracen attack from the Queen Mother. I also know that you were in Acre with Lord Vaisey and attempted to kill the king for the second time, but you stopped near the very line.”

His skin prickled with shame, and he dared not meet her accusing eyes, choosing to avert his gaze. "Thank you for reminding me that I am the king’s would-be assassin."

Her gaze was accusing. “You did despicable and dastardly deeds, Gisborne.”

Guy glanced at her askance. "In the name of Heaven, Lady Megan, please stop accusing me of all the sins and wrongdoings I have committed in my life.”

An exhausted Guy spun around and strode away from the bars. He stopped near the wall and slumped to the stone floor, squeezing his eyes shut. Megan followed his example and landed on the floor, near the bars; for an odd reason, she didn’t want to return to the distant part of her own cell, for she couldn't be alone; not now, not with this growing fear inside of her.

A long, oppressive silence hung over them, broken only by the shuffling of Guy’s feet on the floor as he stood up and walked the short distance across his cell; then he settled on the floor again.

Megan sat against the wall. “I am cold. I am thirsty.”

Guy cringed, irritated with her complaints. “Save your breath and stop whining, Lady Megan!” he barked in a commanding tone. “You are so annoying, aren’t you? No wonder Rotherham and Isabella want you dead.” He lapsed into silence for a while. “What did you do to them?”

She was frustrated that their friendly interlude when they had discussed the king’s capture was short-lived. Affronted and humiliated by his hurtful tirade, she vented her anger towards him. “You have no right to talk to me in this way, Gisborne! You should be ashamed of yourself: you attempted to assassinate King Richard and harmed and killed so many innocent people!”

He looked up at the ceiling, huffing in irritation. “Oh, God, give me strength to tolerate this whining! It is almost worth dying if I might be spared your endless chatter.”

Megan laughed suddenly, a mocking noise. “Oh, come on, Guy of Gisborne. You are here, and I am here too. What else are we going to do?” She laughed again. “We can only talk.”

At the sound of her surprisingly amicable voice, Guy finally broke away from staring at the ceiling and gazed back at her. She was far from him, and he couldn’t see her well in the dim light. “What did you do to the Baron of Rotherham?” he repeated the question he had already asked her.

“Are you inquisitive by nature?”

Guy lurched to his feet and slowly walked to the grating, his gait slightly lopsided. He sat down on the floor, crossing his legs. “When they dragged you here, you were unconscious. Rotherham said that you would either die in prison or meet him at the altar.”

A choked sound came from Megan, and Guy looked over to find her fighting the urge to laugh.

“I rejected Rotherham’s proposal more than a year ago,” Megan enlightened. “When he… detained me, he gave me two choices – either I marry him or die.”

He sneered. “And you were foolish enough to fling aside his offer, Lady Megan? It was surely quite a charitable thought from Rotherham’s side,” he said in an ironical tone.

Megan shot Guy a resentful glance. “Of course, you are unable to understand such simple things: it is better to die than to marry a repulsive creature of darkness like Rotherham,” she snapped wrathfully. “It is very low to coerce a lady into betrothal or marriage when she barely tolerates her suitor. And should the whole world applaud Rotherham for trying to satisfy his selfish desires to have me by any means?”

Guy groaned in despair and pressed his hands to his temples for a brief moment. He remembered how he had coerced Marian into their first engagement when she hadn’t been as confused with her feelings as she had started feeling later, and guilt grasped his heart in a painful hold. If he hadn’t tried to woo and court Marian at that time, she would have reconciled with Robin, and then her confusion wouldn’t have caused so much pain to Robin and to him. Maybe, just maybe, Robin wouldn’t have gone to the Holy Land again and would have been alive now. But pondering over such what-if scenarios was a pure waste of time because he couldn’t change anything – it was already too late.

“Your words remind me of many mistakes,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Her face twisted in an apologetic expression. “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t deserve to be pitied by anyone, most of all by you,” he responded harshly.

They spent many minutes in a lethally pressing silence, sitting near the grating, reflecting on their situations. Guy didn’t look at Megan, but he felt her eyes at himself, wondering what she was thinking of him and whether she had already begun to despise him.

Guy turned his gaze at Megan and said at last, “You have been watching me the whole time?”

“Yes,” she said with a yawn.

“What do you want, Lady Megan?” His voice sounded annoyed.

“I am truly interested in you,” she gave an honest reply. The little thrill that coursed through her veins sent the blood right to her head. “People say that you are a monster, that you killed many innocents, that you murdered their beloved Robin Hood, and that you even eat children for breakfast, lunch, and supper.” She laughed jovially. “There are so many rumors about you.”

Frustration lit his features. “I killed many innocent people, but I didn’t kill Robin Hood.”

She grinned widely. “I have already guessed that half of these tales are exaggerated or are the stupid gossip of those people who have nothing to do but gossip again and again.”

“And you don’t gossip, do you?”

Her eyes flashing with pleasure that they were back to outgiving disposition again, she purred, “I hate gossip, Sir Guy! And I know that you didn’t kill Sir Robin of Locksley.”

Guy let out a faint smile; he understood that Amicia had probably told Megan the truth about Robin’s death. “I didn’t kill Robin,” he avouched. His expression transformed into grief, and he dug his nails into his palms until his skin bled. “I tried to save him in the courtyard, but I was too far from him, and I myself was wounded.” He gritted his teeth. “The sheriff accidentally killed Robin when he lunged at King Richard and Robin unexpectedly jumped between the blade and the king.”

“Amicia told me about Sir Robin’s death.” Her voice turned breathy and low.

He lowered his head, and his heart skipped a beat and then began to pound vehemently in fear, as though he had been back in Imuiz, witnessing Robin’s demise. “I killed Vaisey for King Richard, for England, for Robin, for myself, and for everyone whose life he took or tried to take.” There was a hellishly hateful light in his eyes and a sinister note of malice in his voice, which couldn't really be called human as every thought of the sheriff sent him to a hateful oblivion.

“I know that King Richard pardoned you, but you certainly had a funny way of showing your loyalty to our liege,” Megan noted tartly, although her heart felt as if it would slam right out of her chest. “Why did you kill the sheriff instead of leaving his fate to one of Sir Robin’s friends or to King Richard himself?” She sighed. “I think that it was a suicidal mission to kill Vaisey on the day when Prince John was in Nottingham, surrounded by at least five hundred men from the elite guard.”

Guy shuddered in rage, and his calmness vanished. “You know nothing, Lady Megan!” he cried out angrily. “I had to kill Vaisey! He deserved to die at my hand!”

She favored him with a debonair smile. “Well, listen, Guy of Gisborne. My words will restore you to life.” She felt the blood mounting to her brow; there was no doubt that Guy’s proximity excited her beyond measure, and she pitied him too, wishing to bring some light into his life. “I don’t accuse you of murdering Sheriff Vaisey. On the contrary, I am impressed with your actions, for you ripped the evil out.” She sighed. “I just think that the timing of killing him was chosen incorrectly.”

"You are most kind, my lady." A murky smile curled his lips.

Megan looked at Guy attentively, her heart beating faster as sympathy to him filled every fibre of her heart. He was so lonesome and pitiful that she felt his pain as her own. But she wouldn’t tell him of her sensations and feelings, for she would have been at the very height of stupidity then!

“Sir Guy, stop calling me Lady Megan,” she requested.

His gaze turned somewhat astounded. “Then stop calling me Sir Guy or Gisborne.”

She gave him a satisfied smile. “Very well, Guy.”

Guy smiled to himself. The first moment of perplexity and bewilderment had passed, and now he was even happy that he had a companion after days of despair, misery, and loneliness. Then a colossal grief assaulted him at the thought that another innocent soul – Megan – would die together with him, and he was helpless to save her. He didn’t care that he would die in the underground hell, but his inability to save Megan and Marian filled him with impotent anger at himself. Guy was sure that _his travails were the retribution for his old crimes_ , but Megan didn’t deserve to have such a gruesome and unfair end.

§§§

Time was passing very slowly, and every hour pressed on Guy and Megan with leaden weight. They still didn’t talk, each of them brooding over the dire situation they had found themselves in. Two guards came to their cell only once to give them two flasks of water and two loaves of bread. Megan and Guy ate silently and didn’t utter a word, as if they couldn’t speak. Soon they were already enveloped in gloomy darkness, and then midnight struck sadly.

By the middle of her first night in the underground prison, Megan became very anxious. She strained her ears and tried to hear every sound around her. The absolute stillness augmented the acuteness of her hearing, and she moved at the slightest sound, looking at the door. Several times, she rose to her feet and hastened to the door, but she was doomed to disappointment as every sound died away, and she returned to her straw mattress, grumbling and cursing Prince John and the Black Knights.

Soon Megan sank into despair and began to weep silently and bitterly. In the first delirium of despair, she longed to run to the door and knock at it until someone, even a usual guard, came. She hoped that the Baron of Rotherham would probably come to liberate her and force her into marriage; she thought that if her accursed worshipper proposed to her again, she would feign her agreement, pretending that she wanted to marry him with the aim to run away later and find King Richard’s loyal men. Lying on her back and staring at the ceiling, Megan dwelled on her infelicities once again.

Megan heard someone’s footsteps in the corridor, which plucked her out of her musings. Someone turned the key in the lock, the bolts creaked, and the heavy iron door flung open. Then a flood of bleak light from two torches dissolved the darkness, and Megan saw Isabella of Gisborne who entered her cell, casting a brief look in the direction of Guy’s cell and then focusing her eyes at Megan.

“Stay in the corridor. I will talk to her alone,” Isabella instructed the two guards who were behind her. Holding a torch in her right hand, she advanced forward and stopped near Megan’s mattress. “Lady Megan Bennet, are you asleep?”

Megan lifted her eyes at the newcomer. “Lady Isabella, why are you here?”

“I have come to help you. I want to release you from here,” Isabella replied sincerely, in an urgent voice. She pitied Megan, for she had heard about Hugh Bennet’s daughter at court, and she thought that they had something in common – their aspiration to be independent and their deep loathing for men.

Megan leaped to her feet and arranged her skirts around her. “Lady Isabella, I am very sorry to say this, but I am confused,” she said softly. “You commanded your captain of the guards to take me here after Lord Rotherham had caught me. And now you say you are here to save me.”

“You don’t believe me, Lady Megan.” It was not a question but an assertion.

Megan sighed. “Why do you commit something evil and then insist on your desire to save me?”

Isabella chuckled. “You might not believe me that I am a friend of yours, but I can assure you that I want to help you, and that’s why I am here at the moment.”

“Thank goodness that it is so.” Megan breathed a sigh of relief, her spirits rising ever so slightly.

Guy didn’t sleep and was listening to the two women’s conversation. He silently wondered why Isabella had decided to help the girl. His nails dug into the skin of his palms, his heart pounding harder in an ever-growing fear, and he cursed in his mind his inability to fight off his nervousness. His intuition suggested that Isabella’s help was not a solution to the global problem – King Richard’s release from captivity, even if he thought, for some unexplainable reason, that his sister’s offer might have been sincere.

Isabella smiled. “Let’s go.”

Megan still looked distrustful. “Are you really releasing me?”

Isabella sniffed as the other woman’s stubbornness and doubts were grating on her nerves. “I must explain something to you,” she said in a patient and controlled voice. “I am going to take you to Lord Rotherham. He is ready to marry you even tomorrow.”

“So you think that I should exchange one cell for another,” Megan concluded.

“I am offering you freedom,” Isabella parried.

“I loathe Lord Rotherham. I cannot marry him,” Megan stated firmly, raising her chin rebelliously.

“Don’t be a fool, Lady Megan. You have to survive.” Isabella shook her head in disbelief that Megan could reject her gracious offer. “You have gotten yourself into the terrible mess, and it is only your fault. There is no other way of helping you, not after what you learned.”

Megan turned her head, and in the torchlight, she saw Guy’s silhouette in the adjacent cell. “Lady Isabella, there is something else,” she said, her gaze oscillating anxiously between Gisborne’s dim form and Isabella’s face. “And if I accept your offer, will you release Sir Guy of Gisborne, too?”

Isabella looked at Megan as though she had gone mad. “What? Are you insane? He is our enemy.”

“But... he is your brother,” Megan commented in a voice that was as low as a lament would have been, her eyes shuttling back and forth and finally fixing on the nearby cell. She thought that she noticed the slight twitching of Guy’s shoulders even despite the lack of light, or maybe she just imagined that.

Megan was right, for Gisborne felt every muscle in his maltreated body tremble with excitement and joy, for he was deeply touched and stunned, nearly to the brink of unconsciousness, by Megan’s boldness and her compassion. He didn’t anticipate that she would dare ask Isabella this question, which sealed her own fate with the highest probability.

Isabella’s face contorted in chagrin, and she clenched her jaw. She allowed a long pause to stretch between them. “You see, Lady Megan? Do you see how they manipulate us?” she addressed the younger woman in a waspish voice at last, her eyes filling with anger, her lips setting in a tight line. “A few hours in this cell with a cold-hearted killer and even you, the Queen Mother’s lovely spy, have lost your wits. That’s the poison of men, Megan.” She dropped the official etiquette and spoke in a personal manner. “None of them can be trusted. They all are utter fools, inveterate womanizers, or black-hearted villains, or at least egotistical bastards who are interested only in themselves and their needs. They are not worth our compassion.”

Megan arched a brow. “And you still want me to marry Lord Rotherham, Isabella?” She, too, dropped the etiquette, starting to refer to the sheriff in an unofficial manner.

Isabella clenched the fist of her left hand, and the torch trembled in her right hand. She was losing patience and interest in helping the other woman. “I am offering you a chance to survive. If there was any other chance to save your life, I would have done that, but I cannot do endanger my own life too.”

“Ah, I see.” Megan sighed.

Isabella’s cold voice came across quickly, “You know why I cannot do anything else.”

Megan nodded. “I do know.”

“You must marry Lord Rotherham and try to make the best out of this marriage,” Isabella edified. “After all, there are worse beasts than Rotherham.” She scoffed. “And he has the lingering injury of his lungs, so he will die in a few years, and you will be free from him, Megan.”

Guy was pleased that there wasn’t enough light in the dungeons, which precluded his sister from seeing his face. He was beginning to turn nearly purple as waves of rage surged through him over and over again, and his face was growing flaming hot. He loathed Isabella for making this offer as much as Megan obviously did. Besides, he was shocked with the sensational news about Rotherham’s poor health, and he immediately remembered Vaisey’s words that the baron had been severely wounded and had almost died on the way back from Acre after organizing the massacre in the Crusaders’ camp.

“Don’t you pity the Baron of Rotherham?” Megan asked out of mere curiosity.

Isabella let out a cynical laugh. “After a dreadful life with my sadistic husband, I never pity men.”  She seemed unperturbed by an apparent note of accusation in Megan’s tone. “Let’s go, Megan. We talk too much, and I don’t want to spend another minute here.” She grabbed Megan’s forearm. “My brother will stay here and will soon get exactly what he deserves – death sentence. Now go with me.”

Isabella nearly dragged Megan to the exit from the cell, and Megan didn’t struggle. Once Megan lost her balance, and Isabella jerked her upright. In the next moment, however, Megan wrenched out of her grip, stumbling backward and almost falling but catching her balance in the last instant.

Staring at Isabella in the eye, Megan pushed her hair from her eyes. She didn’t speak for a short moment as she continued to breathe hard. “I cannot go with you if you don’t release Guy,” she declared.

Isabella scowled fiercely. “What did you say?”

“We are not the same, Isabella, and I cannot act like you,” Megan said in a strongly remonstrative voice. “I try to do many bold things out of duty and love to England; I risk my life for my king and my queen. You are betraying your country and your brother out of hate and greed!”

“You are right that I hate Guy! I want him dead!” Isabella hissed between clenched teeth.

Grimacing in disgust, Megan pointed at Guy’s cell and denunciated Isabella’s actions. “You captured Guy, your own brother, after he had killed Lord Vaisey, the vile man who terrorized and oppressed the populace for so many years!” Her voice took a higher, more incisive note as anger was taking over her emotions. “Your brother killed the evil man who tried to assassinate King Richard twice! He killed the man who took Sir Robin of Locksley’s life and dared accuse Guy of Sir Robin’s murder when he himself did this evil deed!”

Isabella’s eyes flashed darkly in hot anger, her brows pulled down, and her face conveyed the same strong emotion. “How dare you say this?” Her voice was like a serpent’s hiss before striking its victim. But then she suddenly relaxed, and her practical disposition came to the surface. “I suppose that I should be grateful. Now I know that I can trust only myself. I am on my own!”

Megan laughed at her. “You put yourself in this situation, Isabella.”

“Is that your final decision to share Guy’s fate?”

Megan shook her head determinedly. “It is better to die an honorable death on the gallows than to be married to Rotherham, a traitor to England and a reptile who doesn’t respect women.”

Isabella threw her head back and laughed floutingly. When she stopped laughing and looked back at Megan, her expression was haughty. “I will grant your wish, Megan.” Her eyes darted between Megan’s face and Guy’s shadowy silhouette. “And if you, two lovebirds, want to be together, then you will be together. I have been put in charge of my brother’s execution by Prince John, and I promise that you both will have a grand execution, with a bloodthirsty throng watching your death.”

Her head high, her lips curled in an arrogant and brutish smile, Isabella span on her heel and swept out of Megan’s cell. She barked something to the guards, and then Megan heard the sound of receding footsteps. Darkness reigned in the dungeons after Isabella’s departure.

Megan started pacing her cell. If she could only escape from this cursed cell, but she knew that it was useless to dream of that! She sat down occasionally on her mattress, pressing one hand to her heart and putting the other to one of her temples, thinking of the course of action she had just taken. She was shocked with her own actions, for she had thought of Rotherham’s proposal before Isabella’s appearance, but she was even more shocked that she had spoken for Guy. Surprisingly, she felt her blood run cold at the thought of leaving Guy alone in the prison.

"Well done," a voice rasped out of the darkness. "You handled my sister expertly, Megan."

Megan stopped abruptly as she distinguished a tall figure near the grating; she swiftly understood that Guy had stood there, observing her. She didn’t see his face, only his dark silhouette, which could have been female or male, for in the darkness Guy was just a figure, a sort of vision which wasn’t the vision of things that people see in an ordinary way – there was something too mysterious in him.

She corrected him, “Meg!.”

“As you wish, young lady. I will call you Meg.”

She stalked towards the grating and stopped there. “I hoped that she would take me out of this prison,” she said in a lugubrious voice. “Then I could flee and find one of the king’s loyal men.”

He moved closer to the grating too. “Meg, you had a chance to gain your freedom back by marrying the Baron of Rotherham. You should have accepted my sister’s offer to help you.”

Megan thought that she was imagining things, and she couldn't believe that he was actually saying that. "Shut up, Guy!" she choked out, tears welling in her throat. Her eyes became watery, and tears trickled down her cheek, but he couldn’t see that. “Why don’t you understand me? This is so easy to understand, but you still don’t! You still–” Her voice broke suddenly.

Guy sensed that she was close to tears, and his heart constricted in his chest. “Meg, don’t be mad at me! What should I understand? Tell me everything, and I will try to comprehend,” he said suavely.

Her spirits had already swooped, and there was no need to remain aristocratically mannered and outwardly calm. “I hate pretense, and I hate lies! I am a great liar if I need to lie, and only God knows how I often have to lie while being on one of Queen Eleanor’s missions! But I hate lying, and I am tired of these games!” she cried out in an anguished voice, her lip twitching at the memory of how many not-very-noble missions she had performed for Eleanor. “Maybe I should have married Rotherham in order to find a way out of here, but I… just couldn’t do that because I hate this man with all my heart.”

Guy felt his heart beating faster and faster. “You couldn’t have lied even for the king?”

Her face went very white, which Guy could see even in the darkness, and she swallowed a sob. “I am very worried about King Richard, but I wouldn’t be able to lie in Rotherham’s face.” Although her hand was trembling badly, she managed to brush away her tears. “I am loyal to King Richard and I will die for him, but I have realized that I cannot lie to and manipulate the king’s enemies even for the king’s sake, for even a thought of doing such things leaves me empty and makes me feel dirty.”

“But you are a court lady and the Queen Mother’s spy.”

Megan felt a peculiar vexation that she had acknowledged to Guy she had often told falsehood for the queen’s sake, for she didn’t want to look bad in his eyes; she couldn’t find an explanation for her own feelings. “I lied to get information from Queen Eleanor’s enemies or for reconnaissance at court. But at least I never used anyone for my own objectives, although it is not enough to justify myself.”

“At times, you need to lie to save yourself, and today was exactly this case.”

A severe silence set in, which was broken only by the distant sounds of the guards who walked back and forth in the corridors, patrolling the underground dungeons.

She was affronted and offended at his suggestion. "I don’t think so, and I don't want to talk about this." She signaled with her strict tone and with a toss of her head that the discussion ended there. Then she spun around and walked to the opposite part of her cell.

Guy gasped for air, his heart beating to suffocation under the stress of her startling words. Looking at her delicate figure perishing in the darkness, he gasped again as his heartbeat accelerated again, his heart pounding so wildly that its pulsations could have probably been seen through his ragged jacket if he was undressed. He was deeply moved by Megan’s words and the new sides to her, which he had seen, remarking to himself that there was a great deal in Megan to become acquainted with. There was some delightful conviction in his heart that Megan would impress and surprise him more over time.

A sharp pain slashed through Guy’s chest at the thought that his marriage to Marian had been built on lies. Marian had spied on him for Robin Hood, lying in his face and manipulating him shamelessly. Then she had become attracted to him and had married him, but she had continued deceiving him about the true nature of her relationship with Robin. Moreover, Marian had married him while still being betrothed to Robin! While it was true that Marian had been confused with her feelings, but her lies and confusion had caused much pain to Robin and to him; he couldn’t deny that it was Marian’s fault. Now he knew why he had often seen a strange, detached expression on Marian’s face, as if she had been dreaming of something or someone, most likely of her childhood heroic sweetheart.

Megan was not Marian, although they had much in common – they both were unique women in their own ways. Marian and Megan both had an unerring sense of moral values, but they were still very different. Megan’s startling behavior was a stark contrast with Marian’s, for his former wife had been feeding him with falsehood after falsehood and he had believed her. _Megan came across as a young lady who hated lies, pretense, and masks, and it was one of the most admirable things in Megan’s character, which Guy had a chance to see so far_.

Guy heard Megan seat down on the floor and hauled an agitated sigh. “Calm down, Meg. It is still dark, and you should try to sleep more,” he recommended, his voice very gentle.

She leaned back against the wall and shut her eyes, one of her palms wiping away the tears that had formed in her eyes, spilled over, and ran down her cheeks. “I will try, but I doubt that I will succeed. I cannot be as composed as you are.” Her voice was plaintive.

“The longer you are here, the calmer you will be,” he volunteered an opinion in a voice that belonged to a man who comprehended something which a few others knew.

She didn’t reply anything to his prophetic statement. She embraced her knees, pressed her forehead to them, and cried herself dry. In the depths of her heart, she was ashamed of herself as she had showed susceptibility to their misery and her vulnerability, but she couldn’t be stoic anymore. She wept quietly but deeply, and her whole body was wracked with sobs. Guy heard the sounds of her cries and often looked in her direction, peering into the darkness as his eyes were trying to see the outlines of her shivering form; but he didn’t utter a word, taking this tactful approach as he understood that all his attempts to support her would be feeble and she would only get angry with him.

Eventually, Megan’s sobs subsided, and at dawn, when bleak light seeped through the narrow window, she fell into restless sleep. Megan had no idea that Guy stood near the grating, watching her sleep and regretting that he couldn’t carry her to her mattress, for it was too inconvenient and too cold to sleep on the stone floor with her head pressed against the wall. There was a movement of compunction in his heart as he again thought of his inability to save Megan’s life, and that was new and strange to him that he, a selfish and callous man, was so concerned about a fate of someone whom he barely knew.

§§§

Many days passed, and Megan was becoming more melancholic. Darkness infiltrated her and infected her heart and her insides, filling her to the core and blending with the ebony darkness of the dungeons at night. Soon Megan burned herself out with her despair and became torpid with the excess of mental agony and fear. She agonized over the king’s fate and her father’s emotional state in her absence, and a feeling of lethargic despondency was gnawing at her, driving her to deeper depths of hell.

Megan snuggled under a thin blanket and wrapped her both arms around herself, savoring the warmth on her skin. Yet, she was still shuddering from the cold as it was chilly in the dungeons; there was also a lack of fresh air and the stench, and she felt as if she were suffocating. It was deadly quiet in the dungeons, and the only human sounds in her ears were the beating of her heart and her labored breathing, as well as Guy’s footsteps as he walked across his cell when he didn’t sleep.

At first, Megan couldn't fall asleep. She was cloaked in her misery and her devastating grief as the thoughts of her own future, which seemed dark and tragic, wreathed and twined in her mind. However, in spite of her despair, sleep claimed her soon, for she was exhausted mentally and physically and emotionally. Yet, her dreams were awful and her sleep was fitful: she dreamt of her own death on the gallows, and she trembled as she envisioned her own headless body in a pool of blood.

“Argh!” Megan awoke with a loud groan, her hair clinging to her forehead in a cold sweat.

As he heard her scream, Guy raised himself up from his mattress and stared into the familiar irritating semi-darkness, for he had already gotten accustomed to the lack of light. It was dawn, and he could make out details of his own cell and of the adjourning cell as well. “Did you have a nightmare, Meg?” he asked. His footsteps as noiselessly as panther’s, he moved across the cell to the grating.

Megan got to her feet and walked to the grating, where she found Guy sitting on the floor and looking in her direction. Her eyes met his, and she raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, but he only laughed in response. She noticed that his eyes were steel blue and sparkled like a blade’s steel, but there was no cruelty in his gaze – instead she could discern anxiety, concern, and curiosity.

She gave a nod. “Yes, I did.”

He nodded back in understanding. “I know. It often happens with prisoners condemned to death,” he said in a hushed voice. “As for me, I have to say that I am accustomed to horrible nightmares that have been plaguing me since the death of my parents.”

“Guy,” she called him softly, “did you sleep while I slept?”

“No, I didn’t. I just cannot sleep,” he said simply.

“Do you have… nightmares about Vaisey?”

He breathed a deep sigh. “Everything in combination.”

"How did your parents die, Guy?" Megan inquired.

Guy was at a loss for a moment. He couldn’t say that he had killed his parents, for King Richard had revealed to him that King Henry and Bailiff Longthorn were the main perpetrators.

After a long, cliffhanging silence, Guy spoke. “There was one man who wanted to confiscate my lands, and he needed to kill my parents.” He emitted a deep sigh. “I accidentally started the fire at Gisborne Manor, and then that vile man used his chance: he intimidated the villagers who set a fire at the building.” He paused, suddenly finding himself unable to speak as terror in his heart left him drained and frightened. “My parents and Robin’s father were trapped in the burning manor.”

Megan gazed at him incredulously. “Did Lord Huntingdon’s father and your parents die together?”

“Yes, they did.”

“This is awful!” she cried out, taken aback. “You seem to have suffered a lot.”

Unexpectedly something unleashed within him, and Guy started telling Megan a long story about the fire and his subsequent banishment from Locksley and Nottinghamshire. She listened to him with great attention, never interrupting him and seemed to be swallowing every word. Yet, there was an unusual expression on her face – an expression of strange familiarity, as if she had already heard the same story before. Guy couldn’t know that Sir Hugh Bennet had already told her many things about Guy and his deals with Vaisey, and there was the reason why Megan’s father knew a lot about Guy.

She found Guy a different man from the image that had formed in her head before: he was a repentant sinner, who craved for redemption. Guy wasn’t an iron-hearted beast, and all the tales of his cruelty and wickedness were twisted and exaggerated, many of them being outrageous and fake. She was surprised to receive proof that Guy had undergone a complete reformation of his character, and she firmly believed that he deserved another chance to lead a normal life as a changed man.

His expression distorted in helpless anger and then became forlorn. “I did suffer, but it is only my deal because you are too young and naïve to understand my life and me,” he burst out in a bitter tone. A quick thought came to him that she did want to help him, but he closed himself off emotionally because of his selfishness and pride. “But I don’t need your pity. And I don’t care whether I die or survive.”

Her gaze wandered around her cell and then swung back to him. “Is your life really so empty that you don’t care whether you live or die?”

Guy gazed at her, but he didn’t think of her and didn’t see her. All of a sudden, his eyes widened, and he seemed to be very uncomfortable. “I killed too many people,” he supplied woefully, hardly believing that he was permitting her to look into the sanctuary of his thoughts and his heart. “In my mind, I often live through my first murder in the forest of Rouvray, near Rouen. On that night years ago, I killed in cold blood a knight who didn’t have time to understand what was going on. Then I was forced to behead his corpse, and I did that.” His lower lip trembled, and unshed tears glistened in his eyes. “I often mentally travel to the city of Angers, where I ambushed and killed many warriors, also in the woods.” He sighed. “I murdered more people in Angers than in Rouen.”

“Good gracious!” She was shocked with his words, but she rapidly recovered her calmness as it wasn’t the first time in her life when she heard such bloody stories.

“Are you disgusted with me?”

“No, I am not.”

Guy moved away from the bars, but she was quicker and grabbed his hand in hers, pressing a knuckle with her thumb and then squeezing it tightly. Staring into his awestruck eyes, she squeezed his hand again sympathetically, wishing to alleviate his pain in the way she could.

“Why?” he breathed. “Why are you not disgusted by me?”

She chuckled. “Disgust is an absurd thing to feel before you learn more about the matter.”

Guy blinked, astounded. There had never been any stranger who wished to talk to him before making any conclusions about his personality. “Why do you say this?”

“Why did you kill those knights? I don’t think that you wanted to spill their blood.” Guy didn’t have an easygoing personality, and his past was dark and full of gloom, but that intrigued her even more.

Guy was so nervous and so anxious that his breathing became labored and harsh. “They were Prince Richard’s loyal knights, who were King Henry’s adversaries.” He took away his hand away from her grip and raked his fingers through his long dark hair, simultaneously trying to steady his breathing. “Sheriff Vaisey always targeted the loyal supporters of Prince Richard and Queen Eleanor. When I began to work for him, I learned that the sheriff had already launched the campaign of killing those who had supported Queen Eleanor and her sons in the revolt of 1173; he did that at King Henry’s behest.”

“Were these killings really so brutal?”

He hesitated to speak first, but then he rebuked himself for that because he had already begun to speak, and it was no use to keep silent. “Very brutal,” he replied in a low voice, his eyes darkening with spine-chilling emotion. “I chopped off the heads, limbs, and fingers of dying knights, and I treated the corpses of some of them in the same manner. Meanwhile, Vaisey was watching and laughing.”

Megan shivered as a tremor of shock slipped her whole body. “Good heavens! This sounds dreadful!” As she envisaged such stomach-churning pictures, she had to struggle to ward off the urge to vomit.

“It was indeed dreadful and bloody.” Guy folded his arms over his broad chest. There were tears in his eyes, and a hefty lump of disgust was choking him. He swallowed heavily, but the lump didn’t go away. “Vaisey started teaching me to kill in Rouen and finished our classes with the bloodbath in Angers; there was no way back to my old life after Angers.”

“But you regret murdering those people?” Megan noticed tears in his eyes, comprehending that he felt ashamed of himself. Her heart thumped hard and fast; not from fear to hear that he had committed such atrocities but out of sympathy she felt for him.

“Yes, I do regret that I killed them,” he said a hoarse voice. “And there is another thing I also regret.”

“What is it?”

Guy continued staring at her, but his eyes were distant. “I regret that I hadn’t murdered Vaisey before he killed Robin Hood,” he confessed, trying to keep his voice flat and neutral but failing completely. “In my mind, I am frequently transported many thousands of miles away, to Imuiz. I see Robin lying on the crimson sand with his own scimitar protruding out of his flesh.” His expression revealed his deep-rooted pain and his remorse. “And I feel so guilty for not preventing Vaisey, the monster who brutalized me and ruined my life, from taking Robin’s life.”

Megan was thinking of Vaisey with a feeling of aversion spreading through her at the knowledge that the sheriff had made a bonfire out of Guy’s soul. “Vaisey seems to have been a monster.”

Guy looked at Megan, and she thought that for the first time since the beginning of their heart-to-heart conversation, he noticed her presence near the grating. He seemed to be living in his own world of darkness while he was sharing with her the secrets of his sinful existence.

“Vaisey was worse than a demon – he was the devil himself or at least the devil’s servant,” he asserted dispassionately, as if he were just a disinterested witness to a horrible drama of his own past.

A few moments later, a disquieting silence reigned in the dungeons as they kept staring at each other. The air was charged with anxiety and tension, and stillness was absolute while a storm of conflicted emotions assailed and raged in the hearts of the two innocents locked in the dungeons.

“May I ask you a question?” Megan said at last, smiling to herself as if at an absurdity.

Guy didn’t mind being asked anything else about his past. “Yes, Meg. I have already told you so much about my life that a bit more frankness won’t make me feel worse.” He sighed loudly.

“Oh, Heaven!” she exclaimed, rubbing her wrists. “Don’t sigh so deeply. Just one question.”

“Ask what you want.” He scowled, suddenly feeling impatient to close the topic.

“I know that you are a nasty piece of work, Guy. But I cannot understand why your own sister wants to keep you in the dungeons for about five months.”

He looked shocked. “Four months?”

She nodded. “Yes. You must have lost a track of time, right?”

“So much time,” he murmured gravely.

“So tell me why Lady Isabella hates you and wishes you dead.”

Guy was silent for a moment. A chill chased up his spine, and a look of shame spread over his features, for he hated those memories of the day when Isabella had married Squire Thornton. “I found Isabella a husband. That’s what I did,” he said in a subdued tone, looking away. “I got a good price, too.”

Megan looked at him with terror in her eyes. “You sold her? Your own sister?”.

His angry gaze returned to her. “It was her best chance in life. We had nothing, and I couldn’t support her. It is not my fault that she made a mess out of her marriage and life.”

“You sold her to a monster,” she arraigned him for what he had done to Isabella. “You didn’t care whom you forced her to belong to.”

Guy twisted his fingers. “You are a stupid girl. You know nothing about that.”

“I am not a stupid girl! I am Megan!” she cried out indignantly. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. “And I am thirsty. And it is very cold here,” she lamented.

Sighing deeply, Guy stood up abruptly and strode towards his straw mattress, where he leaned down and checked a flask of water that lay on the floor; it was empty, and he had nothing to offer her for some comfort. He sighed, feeling as miserable as he hadn’t felt in the earlier days of his imprisonment. Relieved that she couldn’t see his guilty countenance as he was far from her, he took a subtle breath and forced himself to calm down; then he stalked towards the grating.   

He stopped next to the grating and sat down. “There is something that can help you – the stone around your neck. You need to suck it, and that will make your mouth water.”

Megan lowered her head and looked at her necklace, then took the stone in her hands and put it in her mouth. She broke into a melodious laugh, and as it faded away, she glanced at Gisborne, who gave her a confused look, puzzled with her mood swing.

“Thank you,” she said humbly. “Also, I am starving.”

Guy reached out for a loaf of old bread, which lay on a plate near the grating; he had left it there a day ago. Then he handed her the loaf, and she took it, her expression nonplused.

“Here, take it. Keep your strength up,” he said quietly.

Holding it in her hand, she was staring at him without speaking for a moment. Then she said seriously, “There must be some good in you if you want to share with me your own bread.”

He laughed mournfully. “You don’t know me, Meg.”

“If you were a full-fledged and heartless villain, you would have allowed me to starve.”

“I thought that such an independent lady like you hated men,” he said somewhat teasingly.

She nibbled on some bread but grimaced in disgust, for it was old and stale, and it tasted not quite pleasantly. Nevertheless, she was so hungry that she ate it rapaciously. “I do hate men.” She paused and took another bite of bread. “I do hate stupid and selfish idiots, who marry young maidens only to have their dowry, slake their pent-up passions, and beget their heirs.”

Guy scoffed. “Not all men are as bad as you think.”

She looked at him with an enigmatic smile, and he smiled back at her. Soon they returned to their mattresses and rested there in a dour silence until darkness filled the dungeons.

Finally, Megan couldn’t be silent anymore and said, “Come to the grating, Guy!”

Soon they were sitting on the floor, looking at one another through the grating, although they couldn’t see each other well as it was already past dusk and night was setting in.

“What are you thinking of?” Guy questioned after a pause.

She heaved a dejected sigh. “Is it always so quiet here?”

"Always," Guy replied shortly.

“This silence is driving me mad!” she complained. “I want to sing!”

A startled Guy asked, “What?”

She laughed at him. “Guy, did you forget that I have grown up at court in Aquitaine?”

“And what?”

Megan felt her heart leap at the memory of her childhood. “Although Queen Eleanor was imprisoned in England, Prince Richard’s court was truly great – it was a trend setter for France, Holy Roman Empire, and England.” She smiled to herself. “In childhood, I was surrounded by lavish entertainment and great frivolity, and it had a great impact on me.” Her smile grew wider. “I have never been as frivolous as many other southern ladies, but we have much in common with them – we love music of troubadours!”

“I have never liked opulence, idleness, and debauchery, and I tend to dislike Aquitaine.”

“Don’t be so boring, Guy! Music is a powerful form of communicating our feelings and emotions!”

“But not for me, Meg.”

“But I have a southern spirit, although my father is an Englishman!” she cried out, laughing lightly. “I don’t know how you could live in England all the time! The English don’t know how to live and enjoy life – they are so are prim and proper, which makes them boring and their life routine!”

“Meg, you might be annoying, but you are definitely remarkable.” Although he sounded a little vexed, there was a smile on his face that gave her a non-verbal confirmation of his approval.

Megan shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Her mind drifted back to the days when she occupied a place at Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine’s right side at one of the lavishly served tables _“in the hall of lost footsteps”_ – _La Salle des Pas Perdus_. She loved spending evenings in the ducal apartments in the Maubergeonne Tower, when Eleanor and her ladies-in-waiting sat before the hearth, sewing and embroidering while one of the Aquitanian troubadours sang for them. She smiled at the remembrance of her chats with Queen Eleanor about courtly love, art, and chivalry. Megan loved her childhood and adulthood at royal court in Poitiers, and she was glad that she hadn’t grown up in England.

Megan giggled. “I am going to sing one of the songs of Giraut de Bornelh, who earned the nickname of Master of the Troubadours. It will be _“Reis glorios, verais lums e clartatz.”_ Then she went on.

_Reis glorios, verais lums e clartatz,_

_Deus poderos, Senher, si a vos platz,_

_Al meu companh siatz fizels aiuda!_

_Qu'eu no lo vi, pos la nochs fo venguda,_

_Et ades sera l'alba_

Guy wasn’t amazed that Megan could sing in Occitan, for she wasn’t an English countryside girl, like Marian. He had never known the Occitan language very well, but he was a well-educated man, and he could understand it quite well. To give her children an excellent education, Lady Ghislaine of Gisborne had hired an excellent teacher of languages, mathematics, art, and philosophy, and, as a result, Guy could speak and understand five languages – English, Norman-French, Latin, Italian, and Occitan.

Megan finished the first verse. “Did you understand what I sang?”

“I did.”

“Prove that.”

Guy let out a laugh, his spirits improving. “Glorious king, true light and clarity, Almighty God, Lord, in your charity, be a true help now to my friend! For I’ve not seen him since day’s end, and soon it will be dawn!” He paused to extract from the depths of his memory some details about the song. “If I am not mistaken, this song was composed in the year of King Richard’s accession to the throne.”

She was very impressed with his knowledge. “You are right, Guy. Giraut de Bornelh is King Richard’s friend and one of his favorite troubadours.” She sighed audibly, feeling downhearted. “I chose this song because I remembered about the king, who is languishing in captivity; only God or King Richard can save us now.”

“Straight to the point,” he voiced his agreement.

Megan sighed and continued singing in Occitan, trying to distract herself from her sad thoughts.

_Bel companho, si dormetz o velhatz,_

_No dormatz plus, suau vos ressidatz!_

_Qu'en orien vei l'estela creguda_

_C'amena.l jorn, qu'eu l'ai be conoguda,_

_Et ades sera l'alba_

A smiling Guy was listening to the song. “Sweet friend, do you wake or are you sleeping? Sleep no more, now, you must be waking! For in the east I see a star rise Day-bringer, star familiar to my eyes, And soon it will be dawn.” He began to like Megan’s company a lot, thinking with pleasure that it was better to have a small court of love in the dungeons than to think of their impending death.

Megan sang several more verses and then sank into silence. “Are you feeling better?”

“It was a good way to cheer us up, and you succeeded,” Guy responded.

“I am not a brilliant singer, not like Melisende, but I can sing rather well.”

“Do you mean Robin’s wife?”

“Surely.”

“I didn’t know that she can sing.”

She smiled fondly as she recalled her childhood games with Melisende. “Lady Melisende is the most amazing lady I have ever met; singing is one of her favorite pastimes.”

“My mother, Lady Ghislaine de Bailleul and later of Gisborne, also liked love songs, but she didn’t sing. She was born in an old and rich Norman family.” His heart compressed in a vise in his chest as he remembered his Norman relatives, who had thrown him out of the castle years ago. “My mother spent most of her early youth in Normandy and in Aquitaine, including royal court in Poitiers.”

“I have heard a lot about Lady Ghislaine.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said, slowly and with emotion. “I know the story of your mother’s life.”

A silence hung over the two cells for a few aching moments before Guy mustered the courage to ask her, “Who told you about my mother? What do you know?”

“The Queen Mother told me about Lady Ghislaine’s affair with King Henry and about her happy marriage to Sir Roger of Gisborne.” She paused; she wasn’t sure that he would like what she was going to say, but she wanted to be honest with him. “She spoke about you after reading King Richard’s letter, where he informed her about your attempt on his life in a disguise of a Saracen warrior, when you… wounded Lord Huntingdon.”

“God’s teeth!” A wave of shame washed over him, and he hung his head. “Every time I remember the night of the Saracen attack, I feel thoroughly ashamed of myself. I shouldn’t have stabbed Robin that night; he was grievously injured, but he was so brave.”

“It will surprise you if I say something else.”

Guy took a sharp inhale of breath, trembling all over in anticipation. “What?”

“Actually, I was amazed by Queen Eleanor’s reaction,” Megan said flatly, straining her eyes and peering ahead, trying to better see Guy’s face. “Queen Eleanor was very saddened by the news that you tried to kill King Richard and wounded the Earl of Huntingdon in the process.” She shrugged. “Although she was regal and cold, I saw pain and something else beneath her official coldness. She was hurt by the news that you – exactly you – stabbed Sir Robin. And then she spoke about your mother.”

There was a moment’s silence as Guy was digesting the information. He easily guessed the truth behind Megan’s words: Queen Eleanor knew about the dark mysteries of the past and the secret blood ties between King Richard, Robin, and Guy. He was astounded to learn about Eleanor’s sadness, and that surprisingly made him feel some sympathy for the old lady.

“Well, Queen Eleanor arranged my mother’s marriage to my father, and she used to like her despite the fact that once mother was King Henry’s mistress.” Guy’s voice sounded cold and didn’t reveal his true feelings. “Maybe this is the reason why she was saddened.”

Megan felt that there was something else behind Guy’s words, but she didn’t dare ask him anything. “The Queen Mother remembers Lady Ghislaine very well. You are correct that she cared for your mother very much – she told me the same.”

“Yes.” Guy hoped that she would change the topic, and she did.

“By the way, Robin Hood spoke perfect Occitan.”

“You must have seen Robin at court.”

“Not many times, actually. I met him on one of the private feasts in the Queen Mother’s chambers, before the king departed to the Holy Land.” She laughed. “My father had already retired from King Richard’s service, but he was still at court. I was a very young girl back then, but my father always took me to festivities. And during one of such evenings, I saw young Sir Robin: he sat between King Richard and Queen Eleanor, singing one of the songs in perfect Occitan, together with our king.”

His heart began to pound harder. “And did you like Robin?”

“I found Lord Huntingdon unusual and eccentric,” Megan verbalized her perception of Robin Hood. “Sir Robin was charming and handsome, but he was very arrogant and full of himself, thrived in attention to him, and craved to be adored and loved by everyone. Everyone talked about him, which annoyed me a great deal. These things are trivialities for most people, but I didn’t like them in Sir Robin.”

 “Oh, I recognize Robin.” He gave her a knowing smile, cocking his head. “So you were one of those ladies who dreamt of being with Robin Hood,” he chaffed.

She gazed at him in surprise. “This is an ungrounded conclusion! Sir Robin was a handsome and great man, but I didn’t tell you that he was a man of my dreams.”

It was his turn to look at her in astonishment. “I have to say that I am astounded.”

“Oh!” Megan exclaimed, laughing at him. “And why should I be charmed by Lord Huntingdon, like so many other ladies and lasses who loved him and pined for him even though he didn’t care for them?”

Guy smiled at her. “Well, then you are an exception to the general trend.”

“As I said, but I would have never fallen for the Earl of Huntingdon.”

“I am positively amazed, Meg.”

“It serves you right to feel so.”

“Actually, I am surprised that Robin spoke perfect Occitan. It seems that something changed after my banishment.” Guy raised his eyes, fixing his gaze at the dark ceiling. “When I lived in Gisborne, before the fire, Robin was unwilling to study anything and liked only outdoor activities and games, especially practicing archery in Sherwood.” He turned his gaze back to her. “Robin’s father was frustrated that his heir lacked interest in studies.”

“You must have been accomplished in studies of languages, philosophy, and art in your boyhood, given that your mother was from the de Bailleul family. I think that young Sir Robin was different: he was a troublemaker, and you didn’t appreciate his mischievous nature. I suppose, you disliked each other because of these differences.”

“You have a keen mind, Meg,” he commended her.

“By the way, I met the grown-up Lord Huntingdon in Poitiers two and a half years ago.” She blessed herself with a cross over her chest, praying for Robin’s soul. “He was a great man, loyal to King Richard and England. He was a very handsome man, and I know several women from court, who were his lovers and were head over heels in love with him.” She sniggered at the memories. “Ladies at court always discussed Sir Robin’s bravery and his heroic deeds. Many of them dreamt that he would pay at least a little attention to them and choose one of them as his lover, I am sorry for my frankness.”

“This is a typical Robin.”

A long silence followed. Nobody was prone to talk about Robin and court anymore.

Megan again felt crestfallen and fearful. “And if we stay here for longer, how will we feel then?”

He released a sigh of misery. “Every prisoner lives through all the stages of agony and madness in prison.” He lowered his voice and continued, “At first, you hope that you will be released soon or that you will escape. In a few moments, you begin to doubt your own innocence, and you cannot make a difference between reality and dreams because you are lost in darkness. And then you find refuge in mental alienation, and you beg God to save you or to send you any kind of quick death.”

“And if God doesn’t help?”

“You will die eventually, at the hands of an executioner, at your own hand, or a natural death,” Guy said with profound indifference. He sounded resigned to his fate.

“But maybe someone will find and free us.”

“Dreams, Meg. Only dreams.”

“Why?”

“Meg, almost nobody knows that these dungeons, called the underground hell, exist.”

Megan shuddered in horror. “Nobody?”

He gave a nod. “Yes.”

“Why?”

He sighed. “Vaisey built the underground dungeons to hide Prince John’s treasures from Robin Hood and his gang. The construction works had been finished before our voyage to Acre.”

“So it will become our grave?”

Guy couldn’t lie to her, and couldn't lie to himself, although he wished deeply that he was wrong. “It grieves me to the very heart to say this, but, most likely, we will die here, Meg.” He trailed off, collecting his thoughts. “Unless you marry Rotherham or someone frees the king.”

“Never tell me about marrying this beast!” Megan screamed angrily. “It is better to marry you than the Baron of Rotherham! There is more humanity and kindness in you than in him!”

Guy laughed almost tragically, the sharp sound disrobing his self-loathing. “Never say such things to a man like me – to a criminal and a murderer. I simply don’t deserve this.” A smirk expanded across his face. “Or did your imprisonment cloud your judgment?"

She shook her head. "No."

“Then think before you speak.”

Megan clenched her fists, her eyes shooting daggers. “Don’t be so excited, Guy of Gisborne! I would have never married you, especially if you continue to encroach on my independence!”

Guy only smirked at Megan’s spontaneous outburst. She was as temperamental and spirited as he had thought of her at first glance when he had saved her life in one of the streets in Nottingham. He smiled at the thought that her eyes were so strikingly blue, and they were a shade lighter than Marian’s and a shade darker than Robin’s. He liked looking into Megan’s eyes, feeling that he could see her naked soul there when she permitted him to enter the depths of her real world, which she usually hid by habit; amusingly, it wasn’t the case with Marian. To Guy, it was easier to understand Megan than Marian, probably due to Megan’s directedness, honesty, and knowledge of her true self and her real feelings.

§§§

Robin’s journey home continued not as smoothly as he and his companions had anticipated. Their ship made a short stop in Messina and Palermo and then set a course for Marseilles, but bad weather conditions caused a significant delay in their journey across the Mediterranean Sea. On the way to Marseilles, storms were so dangerous and so violent that the small vessel could have been shipwrecked near any uninhabited island or sank in the waters of the sea. It took them nearly three weeks to get from Palermo to Marseilles, much more time than it should have been.

Robin and his friends disembarked in Marseilles in early February. About seven months passed since Robin had been stabbed by Vaisey and a year and a half since he had left England. So many events happened that Robin was seized by a great wealth of emotions – despair, confusion, amazement, bewilderment, joy, and happiness, coupled with incomprehension, doubts, and fears. The only thing that he knew for sure was that he was happy to again be in the Angevin Empire. Robin’s survival taught him a great lesson – great events could have unpredictable and incalculable results.

Everyone was in exhilarated spirits, anticipating that King Richard had been home and that everything would be alright very soon. Only Robin and Carter were full of trepidation for some unknown reasons, for they felt that everything would go as well as they planned. Robin was filled with apprehension throughout the whole journey to England, and Carter succumbed to his friend’s foul mood, which intensified after their arrival in Marseilles, where they didn’t hear anything about Richard’s safe return.

They made their way through the Duchy of Toulouse, where they first heard _the rumor about King Richard’s disappearance_. Their mood deflated, and everyone surrendered to all-absorbing melancholy. The further they moved inland, the more often they heard the grievous rumors about the king’s death; at least they didn’t hear anything about Prince John’s coronation yet. As they reached Poitou, they heard strange tales that the king had probably been shipwrecked and had died in the aftermath.

The winter air was rather cold but still mild for this time of the year; winters in England were different. It was also very damp, and there were some days when it rained heavily without intermission, and when the wind from the north blew in boisterous gusts.

By the time Robin of Locksley and his friends left the Duchy of Toulouse behind, the harshness of the winter strengthened and the temperature plummeted, and somewhere the ground was covered by a thick layer of dazzling white snow that didn’t begin to thaw yet. They traveled through the snow-covered countryside of Aquitaine, with its versatile and richly ornamented tapestry of landscapes – from highly-populated walled towns and moat-ringed castles to dramatic deserted beaches and from fascinating river valleys to countless vineyards of various grapes.

They traveled through the heart of the Angevin Empire – through Aquitaine. As they rode through great bare forests, with bare trees and abundant pastureland that were empty in the winter, Robin recalled the first time when he had visited Aquitaine. The first thing that he had noticed in the southern regions of the Angevin Empire was that the lands were intersected and crisscrossed by the river waters of the Garonne, Charente, Creuse, and other rivers. At his fifteen, he had liked the beautiful landscapes of Aquitaine, and he had fallen in love with the place.

At royal court in Poitiers, Robin and his friends were surprised not to find not only King Richard, but also Queen Eleanor. As they understood that something serious had happened to the king and the queen, Robin didn’t make a public appearance at court as the Earl of Huntingdon, who had miraculously survived his seemingly mortal wound and had finally returned home. Instead, Robin started covering his head with his hood in order to avoid recognition. In secret, he had a meeting with Sir William de Longchamp, King Richard’s staunch supporter and close friend, as well as the very man who had helped Richard save Robin from Bailiff Longhorn.

William de Longchamp was overmastered with happiness that Robin had again cheated death. De Longchamp told Robin all the disturbing news about King Richard and Queen Eleanor; he also shared with Robin a great deal of information about the recent events in the Angevin Empire. They decided that they wouldn’t officially announce the fact of Robin’s survival at least until the moment when they understood where Richard was. Robin would continue being dead for a while.

De Longchamp told Robin that Sir Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester, had departed to Italy and then had taken an inland route through the Alps and the Holy Roman Empire, trying to find a trace of King Richard and his party. Robin’s wife Melisende had arrived in Aquitaine and then had retired to her lands in Bordeaux after getting the news of Queen Eleanor’s arrest. De Longchamp recommended that Robin go to Bordeaux for several days and suggested that next time they would meet in Calais; the old man pledged to arrange Robin’s meeting with the Earl of Leicester there.

Robin and the others left court in Poitiers and hastily journeyed to the southwest, in the direction of Bordeaux, a port city on the Garonne River. Bordeaux was also the place where Queen Eleanor held her court at Ombrière Palace in the summer, when she wanted to enjoy chevauchées that usually ended at the tiled fountains and semi-tropical gardens in the palace. The travelers didn’t enter the city of Bordeaux and rode towards Gironde and Mazères, where Melisende had taken her residence.

Robin and his friends entered the gates of Mazères in the late hours of the February day. Everyone was exhausted from the long and arduous journey, particularly Robin and Carter who were still not as physically strong as they had been before. As they rode through the village and stopped near a small local tavern, Robin asked in Occitan where they could find a nearby inn; among the travelers, he was the only one who spoke Occitan, almost without any accent, which impressed Archer, Carter, and Will, though it puzzled Tuck, who watched Robin with strange curiosity in his eyes.

They dismounted and sniffled, as the drizzling rain had already misted the air, and massive droplets were dripping and plopping from the roofs of the buildings in the neighborhood.

As he hopped down from his horse onto the wet ground, Robin felt a nagging pain course through his lower abdomen, and he repressed a groan. Having covered his face with the hood, he walked forward and gave the reins to a stable boy.

Taking an example from their leader, everyone pulled their hoods down over their faces. Given that Djaq was a Saracen, her skin color stood out like a sore thumb, and it was decided that they would travel hooded to remain incognito and avoid attracting unwanted attention. There were many Crusaders returning home from the Holy Land, and many of whom knew Robin, and so it was exceedingly important to keep their true identities confidential, especially Robin’s.

The door of the inn opened, and the innkeeper hastened to go outside, running his eyes over the guests. “How can I help you, my lords?” he asked in Occitan.

Robin made a slight bow. “We need three rooms for the night,” he replied in perfect Occitan. “Perhaps, we will stay here for more than one night.”

The innkeeper bowed to Robin and his friends. Although their heads were hooded, the man understood that they were not simple poor travelers, for Archer, and Carter were dressed in expensive coats of the best English wool and Robin’s coat was made out of the finest velvet. The man noticed that Robin and Carter wore rings with their families’ coat-of-arms, and it was clear to him that his guests were noblemen, probably not high-ranked ones but definitely nobles.

Robin paused and shuddered as he felt the burning pain in his lower abdomen. He wobbled and struggled to keep his feet, and Archer dashed to him to support him. Will was by Robin’s side in a moment, and they lifted Robin in their arms and carried him inside the inn, to a room allocated to them by the innkeeper. Djaq trod after Archer and Will, while Tuck and Carter went to another room, which they were supposed to share.

Archer and Will put Robin on a bed, and then they stepped aside, leaving Djaq enough space to work on her patient’s behalf. Djaq motioned Archer to help her undress Robin, and Archer began to act. Swearing under his breath, Robin struggled to extricate from his half-brother’s viselike grip, saying that he would do everything by himself. Of course, nobody listened to Robin’s protests.

Archer slid his arm around Robin’s waist to prevent the stubborn man from continuing his struggle. "What are you doing, Robin? You were terribly wounded! You are not healthy yet! You need our help!”

“Robin, you are really unwell,” Will agreed.

“Release me!” Robin commanded. “I will undress by myself! I can do that by myself!”

“Shut up, Robin,” Archer growled as he stripped his half-brother of the coat and pulled at the fastenings of Robin’s tunic. “Damn you, Robin, you need physician’s assistance. And why the devil are you causing yourself more pain? Do you ever listen to our warnings, for God's sake?”

Robin swung his gaze to his half-brother. “What else do you want to say, Archer?” He furrowed his brows. “Do you take much pleasure in seeing me helpless and in pain? Do you mean this?”

Will shook his head. “We are worried about you. We take no pleasure in your pain.”

“Hmm,” Arched grumbled. “Robin, you know that you may be very obnoxious, like me, eh?”

Robin smiled vaguely. “I am the most intolerable man in Christendom.”

They laughed, releasing their tension in a long and merry laughter. Only Robin didn’t laugh.

“Thanks be to God that he has finally understood,” Will commented with a small smile.

Having resigned himself to the necessity to get help from his friends, Robin busied himself with surveying his surroundings. The chamber was dark and not large, with the tiny hearth set into the wall. Aside from two beds covered with fresh linen sheets, two walnut chairs, and a large table near the hearth. There was a large tub in the corner, and Robin began to dream of having a bath.

The chamber had only one small casement window. Robin didn’t like the room, for, after living in his richly furnished tent in the king’s camp or in his luxurious quarters in the Citadel of Acre, he was accustomed to a more comfortable lifestyle, but at least the room had everything for basic comfort. He didn’t welcome the idea of coming back to the outlaws’ camp in the forest, where he had only a firm bunk and often slept on the bare earth. Robin was a little spoiled, even though it sounded incredible.

Soon Robin lay on the bed naked to his waist, and Archer offered to cover him with a bedcover, but Robin refused. Robin wrapped his arms around himself, covering his scars with his palms; his left hand was on his scar on his left side, the other on his lower stomach. Archer poked up the fire in the hearth and threw a log there; then he returned to the bed where Robin rested.

Djaq unpacked several bottles with oils and powders; she also extracted bandages and clean cloths. She stalked towards the bed and knelt, preparing to tend to Robin’s healed wound. During the next half an hour, she expertly performed a procedure of soaking therapy, cleaning the damaged area on Robin’s lower stomach with the cloth soaked in a mixture of red wine and rose oil, which was essential to accelerate the scar maturation process.

“Djaq, what is going on with me? Do I still have any complications?” Robin inquired anxiously; he grimaced at the sensation of cloth touching his scar and the red skin around it.

Djaq sighed heavily. She was weary of his questions as he had already asked him about his health so many times that she couldn’t enumerate them. “Robin, you don’t have infection and inflammation anymore, and you won’t contract a fever again. Your wound has healed really well. But you strained yourself too much during our journey from Marseilles to Poitiers and then from Poitiers to Bordeaux.”

There was a momentary look of vulnerability on Robin’s face. “Will I recuperate completely?”

“Robin, you are very, very lucky to be alive,” Djaq grumbled, sliding her fingers across the muscles of his stomach. “You had a penetrating injury in your stomach, and some of the intra-abdominal structures were damaged.” She muttered something in Arabic under her breath. “It is a miracle that your vital organs were not damaged and that you didn’t have an intra-abdominal abscess.”

“It is only Vaisey’s fault.” Robin clenched his teeth. The lurid blue of his eyes gleamed with hatred and rage. “It is such a great misfortune that Gisborne killed Vaisey. I planned to kill him by myself.”

“Robin, we wouldn’t have allowed you to come close to Vaisey,” Archer asserted.

Will nodded. “I agree.”

Robin shrank at the touch of the cold cloth against his skin. “When will this wound stop troubling me? I must be able to fight as soon as possible. We have the King of England and the Queen Mother to save.”

Djaq glanced at Robin, still holding the cloth on the wound. “Robin, you must be patient. I told you that you would be able to fight as well as you could before,” she answered truthfully. “And I warned you that we should have waited for longer until you felt better and were fit to travel.”

Robin groaned. “You know that I had to go home.”

Djaq rolled her eyes in annoyance and braced herself for the inevitable arguments. “I will say nothing else on the matter. You already know my opinion.”

Robin heaved a sigh. “I felt that something wasn’t right with King Richard.”

Archer chuckled. “Robin, I am amazed that your presentiments were true, as we see now.”

Will nodded. “Robin, I also watched you. Your uneasy forebodings made you pale and trembling every time we spoke about the king and dreamt that everything would be well upon our return.”

Djaq raised her gaze at Robin, and their gazes locked. He smiled at her mysteriously, and she smiled back, thinking of Robin’s true relationship with the king. The others didn’t need to know his secret.

Everyone went very still, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Djaq advised that the temperature in the room be kept warmer, and Archer went downstairs, asking servants to fetch more firewood in the chamber. When he returned, he put more logs in the hearth to make sure that Robin was comfortable. The logs were ablaze in minutes, and soon the warmth from the fire spread in the room.

After Djaq finished her ministrations, she gave her patient some sleeping draught, hoping that Robin would sleep till the early morning without suffering from nightmares. And she was right: it was one of the few nights when Robin was able to relax and sleep peacefully, without turning and turning on his bed and moaning quietly. Good rest was necessarily for him, and it was health-giving too, for he had a long day tomorrow, when he intended to meet with his wife after months of separation.

§§§

The next morning, Robin awoke when the rays of pale sun cast ghostly reflections on the walls. He slept for about nine hours, and this singular thing astonished him. He wasn’t unaccustomed to sleep for so long! A joyous ray of the winter sun entered the chamber through the small window and touched his face. He stretched his body across the linen sheets and thanked God that there was no pain in his stomach; Djaq was an excellent physician, and he was happy that she didn’t stay in Acre with Bassam.

After a quick breakfast, Robin, Archer, and Carter rode from Mazères to Château de Roquetaillade. It was again raining heavily, and the weather manifestly worsened today; their hoods somehow were a poor shelter for their heads from the rain. The drumming of the rain was especially irritable after the calm and warm night. They dismounted and tethered their horses to trees on the edge of the forest, bordering with the gardens of the château.

"It is great that we are not soaked to the bone," Carter said petulantly.

Archer frowned. "It has been raining since dawn, and it seems that it is not going to stop.”

Robin smiled knowingly. “It is often raining in the southern lands at this time of the year. It will be raining throughout the whole day, for the clouds are dark with a storm,” he predicted. “The best time for enjoying charms of Aquitaine and tasting great wines in the region of Bordeaux is late spring and summer, when wines are blooming, or mid-September, which is a harvest time.”

“You know the weather in this region so well, Robin?” Archer sounded amazed.

“Yes,” Robin said.

“Robin had a knighthood training in Aquitaine. He also lived here for some time,” Carter elucidated.

Robin poured out some funny tales about his adventurers in the woods of Poitou while hunting there with King Richard, and snickers tittered through the group. Then a long, light silence ensued as they immersed themselves into scrutinizing their surroundings.

Archer eyed the château in the distance. “Robin, does your beautiful wife live here?”

Robin gave a nod. “She came here from court in Poitiers.”

“This is so very amazing, Robin!” Archer exclaimed. “You are the Earl of Huntingdon and Count de Bordeaux! You are a lord of such vast and rich lands! Your fortune is great, and you are twice as rich as a nabob. Not every Eastern vizier or sheikh has so many lands and so many vassals.”

Carter laughed. “And now you will say that Robin must be the Shah of Persia, traveling incognito."

“Yeah, I will probably be richer than Saladin in my next life,” Robin quibbled, speaking in a heartsinking voice. He swallowed hard, and his expression morphed into gloom as his mind meandered over the events of the years when he hadn’t been in England and his people had starved to death. "One big correction – these lands in Aquitaine are not mine – they are my wife’s,” he pointed out. “And presently I am not as rich as the Huntingdons used to be once.”

Archer flicked his gaze to Robin and inquired, “Why?”

Robin sighed; it was a painful theme, for it was he who had deserted his people for long years. “The people, who live in my lands – in Huntingdon, Locksley, and my other estates – experienced many misfortunes while I fought in the Holy Land. My own riches were depleted because of Prince John’s unbearable taxation and because of Sheriff Vaisey’s reign of terror and brutality in Nottingham.”

"I confess, my dear brother," Archer observed, "that I have some difficulty in comprehending your possible objection to being married to a young lady who is both wealthy and beautiful."

Robin smiled tensely, although his skin prickled with guilt: he had nothing to complain about as he was married to the rich royal lady, who loved him and was one of the most extraordinary females of their epoch. “I married Melisende out of loyalty to the king, but this union turned out to something much more interesting than a political marriage or a marriage of convenience.”

Archer guffawed. “It is great, brother!”

“So how are we getting inside the château without being seen?” Carter asked.

Robin pulled his hood over his face. “I have half a plan,” he used his trademark expression, his eyes twinkling. “Follow me to the back door of the palace. I promise that nobody will see us.”

They made their way through the forest and the deserted part of the winter garden, passing numerous buildings, each of them vying with each other for the elegance of design and magnificence of construction. Soon they were in the heart of the large garden, where wide-spreading bare trees raised their heads high to the leaden sky, rivaling in their height to the walls of a solid rampart.

The garden was covered with snow, and they regretted that it was the winter now, for every spring the garden blossomed in green colors of young leaves on trees and in a profusion of delicate pink, white, blue, violet, orange, and white flowers, which were scattered across lawns in large stone vases that stood near every bench and every fountain. They passed through two vast terraces and another small garden undetected, having met only a few servants.

They slipped into the château through the back door and hurried to hide, slowly walking through the first floor and hiding in the alcoves from the servants, all of whom were fussing and hurrying somewhere, with the steward screaming to bring more fresh towels and bowls of water in Countess de Bordeaux’s apartments. It was when Robin realized what was going on – he arrived when his wife was giving birth to his first child. Robin smiled smugly to himself, thinking that he always appeared out of nowhere, when nobody expected him, and usually in time to see some dramatic events.

Robin, Archer, and Carter came through a long corridor absolutely freely and arrived in the great hall with the monumental gothic staircase in the center. They concealed themselves behind the corner as several servants hastened up the staircase, discussing something in Occitan.

On the whitewashed walls in the great hall, many portraits and paintings shone splendidly in the brilliant light of the chamber; they were mainly the portraits of the people from the Plantagenet house and the House de Vermandois, from which Melisende’s mother descended. The heavy walnut furniture consisted of several rows of high-back chairs set at intervals against the walls and a long massive table, which was used during official grand feasts in the castle.

Robin dropped to one knee, took his new recurved bow off of his shoulders, and drew an arrow from his quiver. He scanned the hall, his gaze lingering on the candelabrum that hung from the ceiling. He laughed, making up his mind how to celebrate his return.

Carter stared at Robin in bewilderment. “Robin, what are you going to do?”

Robin winked at Carter cheekily. “Robin Hood has returned home. Let’s have some fun.”

Archer caught Robin’s gaze. The great antique candelabrum hung from the ceiling in the center of the hall, with sconces for nearly a hundred candles; it was ornamented with glittering crystal pendants. It was hooked to the ceiling by a long jeweled chain. The candelabrum was also adorned with intricate arabesques of leaves, fruits, and flowers, each of them enriched by colored glass.

“Oh, my God! I like this so much! I like this!” Archer fell into excitement and emotional inspiration; he patted Robin’s shoulder fondly.

Like Robin, Archer removed his own recurved bow from his shoulders. He took an arrow from his quiver and then knelt near Robin. Robin and Archer smiled, winking and nodding at each other.

“Two mischief-makers,” Carter retorted as he realized what they were going to do.

“It will distract their attention from us. We will be able to sneak upstairs unheeded,” Robin explained his plan as he fired an arrow at the candelabrum.

“I love it,” Archer murmured as he shot an arrow next instance after Robin did the same.

The two arrows whizzed in the air and struck the rope that tied the candelabrum to the ceiling. The shots were performed with uncanny accuracy: the arrows hit the rope where necessary. In the next instant, the candelabrum tumbled to the floor with such a wallop that the walls and the glass in the windows trembled. 

“Lads,” Robin addressed them in a blithesome voice, “it is wonderful to be a renowned marksman.”

“It’s over!” Archer gasped, chuckling and fighting the urge to laugh uproariously.

“Robin, you are ruining your own property.” Carter was unable to suppress a laugh.

Robin shrugged. “Well, we needed some distraction, and we got it.”

The servants ran to the great hall. At the entrance, they paused and stood rooted, open-mouthed as they saw the candelabrum on the floor. The arrows were lost among the shatters of glass.

“What is this?” one of the servants asked in Norman-French.

“What is happening?” a young servant girl questioned.

“Interesting,” Robin whispered. “Some servants talk in Occitan and some in Norman-French.”

“I noticed that the same,” Archer agreed.

The steward ordered to go to the kitchens and take bowls of water and other things to clean the great hall. The servants disappeared like shadows, hurrying to obey the orders of the strict steward. Soon they hurried and scurried about the hall and the kitchens; a hustle was here and there. The guests seized their chance to sneak upstairs in the moment when everyone was out of the chamber.

“This is the unconditional surrender of the servants,” Archer mocked. “Now we may go.”

Robin grinned knavishly. “Let’s go, lads.”

They climbed the grand staircase and found themselves in a long corridor with whitewashed walls hung with lovely paintings. They passed through a large living room and several reception rooms, and as they get to an enormous vaulted hall, they heard loud female moans from the chamber in the tower. They shared worried glances, but Robin grinned cockily and explained what he had overheard in Occitan; his friends smiled and congratulated him.

They opted to hide somewhere and wait until the moans quieted and Melisende’s labor ordeal was over. They passed through another corridor and opened the door of what seemed to be a study room, which was the last chamber in the corridor that led to the tower rooms.

In the master bedroom located in the highest tower of the château, Lady Melisende Plantagenet was in labor. She lay on her luxurious bed, pallid and drenched in a cold sweat, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, who tried to help their mistress as much as they could. They unbraided Melisende’s hair so there would be no bindings to tie the baby in the womb, which was one of the midwives’ old tales; Melisende’s thick and tangled red-gold strands streamed over shoulders and back.

“Wait a little more, Lady Melisende,” the midwife said cheerfully, wiping her hands with a towel after examining her patient. “Bound to be a boy, they always cause a lot of trouble.”

Melisende closed her eyes, gritting her teeth in pain. She was in labor for more than ten hours, and she was utterly exhausted, unable to push anymore. Throughout the night and morning, the contractions became more frequent and painful. She thought that women, who had birthed at least one child, could ascend the mountain of Olympus, for she had never thought that it was so painful and extremely difficult to give birth to a child. She wondered how Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine had delivered eleven children – ten legitimate children and one illegitimate son – Robin. 

“ _Mon Dieu!_ I cannot endure this pain anymore!” Melisende screamed. A contraction started low in her spine, and pain bloomed through her lower body, causing her to gasp. “I just cannot endure it!”

“You must,” the midwife said strictly. “For your child.”

Lady Catherine de Mathefelon, one of her ladies-in-waiting, managed a large smile; she put a hand on Melisende’s forehead. “Lady Melisende, you have to push,” she coaxed.

Melisende wailed as another wave of pain hit her. “It hurts so much! It hurts too much!”

“Lady Melisende, be patient. Childbirth is always painful, especially given that it is your first child,” the midwife said as she approached the bed. She placed her hands onto Melisende’s swollen stomach to feel the position of the child in the belly of the future mother. “It should be over soon.”

“I cannot push anymore!” Melisende screamed. Her heart almost collapsed as a new wave of strong and sharp pain slashed through her. “I am being serious: I cannot endure this anymore!”

“Lady Melisende, don’t say such things! Think of Sir Robin – it is his child,” Catherine de Mathefelon admonished. “He would have wanted you to be brave and courageous for yourself and your baby.”

A groaning Melisende gripped Catherine’s hand as a stronger tide of pain assaulted her. “I cannot understand how Aunt Eleanor had so many children,” she whispered so quietly that her voice vibrated in her chest. She raised her voice and began to grumble as the pain shot through her, “Poor women! Sometimes I would have given up everything to be a man!”

Her ladies-in-waiting giggled over her joke, but the midwife scolded them, and a hushed quiet fell over them. As Melisende broke into wails and little screams of pain, they started fussing over their mistress, trying to help her in all possible ways. Bowls and bowls of hot water were brought to the chamber. Then a young servant girl reported to Catherine that the candelabrum had fallen in the great hall.

“What happened?” Melisende asked as she noticed the frightened faces of her ladies.

“Nothing interesting, my lady,” Catherine hurried to allay her mistress.

Melisende wasn’t conscious of the passing minutes. She only knew that the pain was unbearable and that she was dying from it. She was still experiencing contractions, but she no longer cried out at the top of her lungs; she only groaned quietly, looking at her ladies with wide-open frightened violet eyes. She was too worn-out to produce any sounds and even to think. She didn’t want to die, praying to God to deliver a child before her soul departed to Heaven.

“I have been praying every day to give birth to a healthy child since I learned about my pregnancy,” Melisende confessed, her voice laced with a desperate anguish. “I wanted so much to have a piece of Robin, but never, even in my wildest dreams, had I imagined that it will be so terrible!”

“You had a difficult pregnancy, my lady,” Constance de Toucy, another lady-in-waiting, stated. “The tragedy with Sir Robin broke your heart and drained all your strength.” She wiped the sweat from Melisende’s brow. “But you are stronger than other women. You will survive through all the hardships.”

“Aunt Eleanor is under house arrest in England, while Richard vanished like smoke,” Melisende said. Her expression was really tormented and afflicted. “Maybe my cousin is already dead, like Robin.”

“Lady Melisende, don’t think of these troubles right now,” Catherine persuaded her mistress in soothing tones. “As soon as you have your baby in your arms, you will be the happiest woman on earth.”

The labor continued for another hour, and the contractions grew stronger and more frequent. The next contraction wrung Melisende in its grip, and the midwife urged her to push harder. The pain was twisting and tearing her insides, but Melisende gritted her teeth and pushed, trying to give life to the child of her beloved husband. And then, to everyone’s relief, the midwife signaled to the ladies, assisting her, that they were nearly done and only a few minutes remained until the birth.

Catherine asked softly, “Do you have a name, my lady?”

“Robin for a boy and Eleanor for a girl,” Melisende declared through clenched her teeth.

A new, eminently powerful contraction surged through the king’s cousin, and she bit her lips so as not to cry out, but she still screamed violently, feeling compelled to push harder. All at once, Melisende felt her body empty, and then the midwife announced that it was over. Propped on her elbows, Melisende shifted on the bed and stared at the baby lying next to her like a shipwrecked dead sailor. Fear gripped her entire being, and panic shot through her as the child wasn’t wailing and wasn’t moving.

“It is _a baby boy_ ,” the midwife stated.

“He isn’t crying,” Constance choked out, her throat closing up, her face horrified.

“Oh, my God! Is he… dead?” Catherine’s hand covered her mouth to keep from sobbing loudly.

“ _Mon Dieu!_ No, not this!” a horror-stricken Melisende shrieked in spite of weariness; she was unable to control her emotions. “Good cannot be so cruel to me! He cannot take my child from me!”

The midwife lifted the baby by the ankles and swung him gently. A shudder rippled through the baby’s tiny body, and a wail of protest coursed through the air, quiet and uncertain at first, but then louder and louder. The ladies sighed with relief and crossed themselves.

The midwife turned to Melisende, a smile spreading across her wrinkled face. “The baby is just so stubborn that it just needed an awful bit of persuading to start crying; now he is alright.”

Melisende smiled flamboyantly, the first brilliant smile in months. “Is he healthy?”

“Yes. He is strong and healthy,” the midwife said with satisfaction as she took the child in her arms. “I was right – it is a boy. I always know whom a woman would have.”

Melisende shut her eyes as an exorbitant sense of relief engulfed her, as if a heavy burden had been removed from her heart. She gazed out the window, smiling brightly. The rain stopped, and some thin, bleak rays of sunlight squeezed between the thick cloud coverage to warm the winter gardens. She thought that it was a good omen that the rain stopped when her son gave his first cry of life. She didn’t know that yet, but it was indeed a good omen, for Robin was very close.

Melisende’s ladies-in-waiting rushed to her and helped her change her nightgown. As they finished, they helped Melisende sit up in the bed, putting a pillow under her head and several pillows around her. They took away the sheets stained with her blood and swiftly cleaned the chamber. The midwife swaddled the baby boy, and soothed him to the point that he had calmed down and now was cooing.

Meanwhile, Robin was sauntering towards the master bedroom. He mounted the stairs that led to the tower, and then emerged in a long arched corridor. He had already figured out the location of Melisende’s apartments. He stalked through the corridor with entrances to several bedrooms and a spacious living room in the same tower; he was stunned with the grandeur and lavishness of his wife’s residence. He felt his heart beating as fast as it hadn’t beaten for many months; then his heart somersaulted in his chest at the thought that Melisende and his child were probably not alright.

Robin noiselessly opened the door of the bedchamber, pleased that it didn’t crack, for the sound would have negated his surprise. Standing at the doorway, he roamed his eyes over the bedchamber.

The room was decorated in the magnificent and opulent style. Robin smiled at the sight of the walls that were not whitewashed but were hung with ivory and gold brocade. Many ivory and gold tapestried couches and delicately carved high-back chairs were placed on ivory and gold Aubusson carpets. The chamber was illuminated by several pale and antique lamps that dangled from the walls. In the center of the room, there was Melisende’s great bed that was rendered entirely in expensive walnut and boasted with crossmatched walnut panels flanked by a pair of marble carved columns on each corner. The bed was covered in ivory and gold tapestry, and Robin saw Melisende lying there.

The midwife laughed, looking at the child. “This boy is very handsome,” she said truthfully. “He has high cheekbones and a mass of the downy hair of wheat color on his head!”

Melisende felt tears sting her eyes. Tears of happiness and relief welling up in her eyes, she found her voice choked with the deepest and exuberant emotion as she commented, “He has his father’s hair.” She opened arms, looking at the midwife. “Give him to me. Give my Robin to me.”

Robin chuckled at the thought that it was a great moment for his resurrection. His heart was drumming a maddening beat as he fought frantically to get his wildly careening senses and his ample emotions over control. He took a deep breath and smiled to himself: he was ready to come back from the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you truly enjoyed this chapter and the plot.
> 
> Megan and Guy finally met each other! I hope that you liked the scene of their first meeting in the dungeons. It took me a lot of time to write their first conversation because I wanted to convey many emotions there: Megan’s shock that Guy of Gisborne of all the men in Nottingham is her savior and Guy’s shock as well. Megan is not afraid of Guy, like she is not fearful of many other things.
> 
> The twists and turns in this story made Guy realize how wrong his path was and how bad he really was when he served the sheriff, and now he wants to redeem himself. His reaction to the news about King Richard’s capture is very important to understand the depths of changes in Guy. You probably noticed that Guy is genuinely aggrieved to learn that Richard lost his freedom and is not coming back to England anytime soon. Guy isn’t as selfish as he was before: he is very concerned about Megan’s fate, for she is another innocent who may lose her life because of Prince John’s ambitions to take the crown.
> 
> Robin and his friends returned to the Angevin Empire only to learn that King Richard hadn’t made it home safely and had disappeared somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea. Of course, Robin is extremely nervous and is full of anxiety and trepidation at the thought that Richard could have been killed. But at least Robin has a surprise – he arrives in Melisende’s estates on the day of his son’s birth. Robin’s resurrection is going to happen in the next chapter when he meets with Melisende.


	17. Resurrection of a Hero

**Chapter 17**

**Resurrection of a Hero**

The sound of someone clearing their throat drew every pair of eyes in the bedchamber to a slender man of average height, who watched them from the doorway. He wore a heavy cloak of double-layered dark green velvet, and his hood was pulled over his face. His cloak was completely unfastened, revealing his green brocade tunic, a jeweled belt on his waist and a golden, sheathed Saracen scimitar that hung at his waist. There was a full quiver of arrows on his back, except for one arrow which Robin had already used in the great hall. Despite the heavy drizzle outside, he managed to stay quite dry.

A perturbed Melisende felt as if she were floating in the air instead of sitting on her bed. She couldn’t believe that all her prayers and hopes could be answered so perfectly. Her heart was beating faster, so fast that it seems that any moment now it would jump out of her chest and break her ribcage. She could recognize her beloved departed husband in a huge crowd. But she knew that he was dead, and he couldn’t stand in the same room at the moment!

“I think that we should name our son Richard after our beloved king,” the newcomer said in excellent Norman-French, without any accent. He chuckled under the hood and then said facetiously, “Having two Robins would be a great disaster for us.”

“This is impossible,” Melisende murmured in a tremulous voice, her eyes darting between her child in her arms and Robin who continued standing in the doorway. “This is impossible…”

Robin laughed; then he folded his arms over his chest. “I see that I returned home in time.”

The midwife scowled. “Who are you, milord? What are you doing here?” she questioned, her face contorting in righteous anger. “By Christ, you should leave now! Leave this chamber right now!”

Catherine de Mathefelon and Constance de Toucy shuddered as the incredible realization dawned upon them. Constance shook her head in shock, thinking that she was probably hallucinating; but if it was really the moment of Robin Hood’s resurrection, then she had to make a report to Prince John urgently. Catherine stared at the hooded man in disbelief, but a tiny smile curled her lips: she found it hard to believe that her former lover was alive, and yet she could see him in the same room.

Still standing at the doorway and watching the beautiful, heart-warming picture of his wife cradling their son in her arms, Robin tilted his head to one side and said, “Oh, Melisende, please don’t tell me that you are not happy to see me!” He sounded disheartened and almost betrayed, though he was smiling under his hood. “If you still consider me a ghost, then can a ghost ask… at least for one kiss?”

“Get out of this chamber! Get out of here!” the midwife shouted.

Melisende directed an incredulous stare at Robin. “Leave him be. You don’t know who he is.”

Robin promenaded across the chamber and stopped near his wife’s bed, then landed on the edge. He pulled down his hood, revealing a striking mane of thick sandy-colored hair that was still as impishly cut as before; a local barber in Marseilles had done his job very well, exactly in accordance with Robin’s wishes. He glanced into Melisende’s eyes and gave her the warmest and most charming smile which he had ever given to a woman, excluding to Marian at the moments when he had proposed to her twice.

Robin didn’t think that he would be so phenomenally happy to see his wife again. His heart began to thud with a warm joy inside his chest. He felt emotions overwhelming him, gripping his heart so tightly that he almost lost his ability to breathe. Melisende was so enigmatic, so stunning, so feminine, and so beautiful, and she was even more beautiful than she had seemed to him in his dreams while he had been recovering in Jerusalem. _She was the queen of his dreams!_ Her gorgeous image – the image of the immortal goddess of wit, doom, and beauty, with almond-shaped violet eyes and her long, glossy, red-gold hair streaming down her shoulders – almost superseded the image of the beautiful brunette – Marian of Knighton, whom Robin had loved for many, many years.

An incredibly happy Melisende looked at Robin as if she were mesmerized, her heart thundering in her chest, almost suffocating her. Her excited cheeks become inflamed, and a flame ignited in her violet eyes and in her mind, heating her from the inside out. She fixed her gaze on Robin, who was smiling at her with an entrancing and nearly mind-blowing smile, which she loved so much. She saw a great deal of warmth, tenderness, and happiness in his pale blue eyes, and her heart hammered harder in joy.

 _Her Robin was alive!_ If she had been alone in the chamber, she would have thought that she had gone mad. She didn’t know what miracle returned Robin to the land of the living, but she was immensely happy as her most cherished dream had become true – her husband had resurrected.

“Lady Melisende, it is against all the rules that this man is staying here,” the midwife grumbled.

Melisende shook her head. “I am not going to lose my beloved husband again, after I lost him in Acre.” She choked down the tears welling in her low throat and in her eyes. “I don’t know how it is possible, but God returned my Robin to me and to our son.” She smiled brightly through tears, and her lips slightly parted as she whispered his name under her breath. “I am not going to let him leave us again!”

Robin nodded at Melisende and then took his son from her arms, marveling at the lovely perfection of the baby boy’s chubby face and his small hands. He had never been a father before, but he had always liked children. Melisende showed him how to hold the infant, and he complied with her instructions, thanking her with a tender smile on his face. Soon Robin was already holding their son, carefully supporting the boy’s head and cradling his head in the crook of his arm.

Robin smiled as his newborn son who stared at him with wide-open, intelligent eyes. He had never thought that a feeling of having his own child was such a sheer perfection. When he had seen Melisende with his son in her arms, his emotions had peaked, and the vestiges of doom and pain had enveloped him. Then all his pain had been replaced by a feeling of otherworldly lightness and absolute happiness, as if something had cleared the fog of confusion, where he had been swimming through for so long. He could feel again – he could feel with all his heart the happiness of being reunited with his old life and with his wife. A violent storm of fierce emotions was changed by a wealth of the gentlest and most tender feelings, and then a sensation of tranquility overtook him.

“Your husband is dead, Lady Melisende,” the midwife intervened, taken aback. “He tragically died a hero’s death in Acre, saving King Richard’s life.”

Robin turned his gaze at the midwife. “Why cannot I come back from the dead?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with imps of mischief. “Death is one of the most innocent jokes among very many other bad jokes.” He chuckled. “Isn’t my sudden resurrection a better joke than my death in Acre?”

“But how is that possible?” The midwife’s wrinkled face was becoming increasingly pale.

Robin laughed at them, his eyes never leaving his son’s face. “Wait! Did you forget that I am Robin Hood?” He would have theatrically outstretched his arms if he didn’t have the child in his arms. “I will tell you something. Robin Hood can accomplish miracles! Working wonders is Robin Hood’s destiny!”

The old woman’s eyes widened. “What? Robin Hood is here?”

Melisende and her ladies-in-waiting broke into quiet giggles and snickering.

“Of course, I am Robin Hood,” Robin proclaimed proudly, his prancing smile on his face.

Melisende smiled merrily, her eyes glowing in happiness and dancing with the imps of mischief. If she hadn't been so tired after her labor and wasn’t overwhelmed by emotions, she would have laughed until her body hurt and her breathing changed to gasping, wheezing gulps for air. Her ladies giggled too, swept into a mischievous mood by Robin’s good spirits.

Melisende swung her gaze to the midwife. “Let me introduce my husband – Sir Robert James Fitzooth of Locksley, the Earl of Huntingdon and Count de Bordeaux,” she announced with a large smile on her face. It sounded so unusual to her that she had to introduce her presumably deceased husband.

Robin smirked; she called him Robert instead of Robin, and he knew that she did that on purpose. “Yeah, I am Robin, Robin Hood and the Earl of Huntingdon,” he corrected.

Melisende pursed her lips, her expression serious, but her eyes were knavish. “Robert,” she teased.

“I am sorry… I am…” the old woman stammered, and then she sank into an awkward curtsey.

“It is so lovely to meet you,” Robin responded nonchalantly, giving the midwife a supercilious glare in revenge for her rudeness. “Thank you for helping my wife to deliver my son into the world.”

“You are… most… welcome, Lord… Huntingdon,” the midwife stuttered as she took in her lord’s handsome features. Her voice was unsteady, and a blush of embarrassment suffused her cheeks.

Melisende touched her husband’s forearm, and Robin moved his gaze from their son to her. “Robin, how did you come to the château? Has someone seen you here?”

Robin gave a laugh. “Melisende, I beg your pardon for causing… some trouble in the great hall.” His expression was a cameo of feigned guilt. “I had to sacrifice something in order not to be discovered in the commotion that escalated after the fall of a heavy object from the ceiling to the floor.”

“The candelabrum,” Catherine de Mathefelon said shortly, her lips lengthening in a smile.

Robin shrugged light-heartedly. “I am sorry, Melisende. I had to come here undetected, and I needed to distract everyone’s attention by ruining our property – by shooting at the rope that hooked the candelabrum to the ceiling.” He looked almost apologetic, but his smile was smug. “I resolved to celebrate my return by wreaking havoc. After all, I am the best marksman in the Angevin Empire.”

Catherine and Constance smiled in response, for they had already gotten accustomed to Robin’s dry humor. The midwife was clearly struck dumb with Robin’s uncommon manners.

Melisende smiled joyfully at the midwife. “Don’t worry. It is a normal behavior for your dear lord. Robin has always been a man of delightfully pleasing manners that entertain everyone and even himself.”

Robin touched his son’s cheek, smiling gibingly. “Ladies, I have extravagant and palatable manners that are impeccable, pleasing and courteous, yet arrogant and at times annoying. If you get to know me better, you will see that I am an unforgettable man in everything I do.” He choked back a laugh as the boy’s small hand half-clasped his wrist. “My manners surely charm away evil spirits and designs against kings, queens, and their cousins, so you are safe with me.”

“You haven’t changed at all, Robin,” Melisende noted.

His trademark cocky grin spread across his face. “And why should I?”

“No, you should never change, Robin of Locksley,” Robin Hood’s wife retorted with a hearty smile. “It would be such a grotesque waste of great talents otherwise.”

“Let’s name our son Richard,” Robin offered. “If we have two Robins, there will be a great trouble.” He grinned. “I was a naughty and often even wild child. He will be like me.”

“I agree. Let him be Richard.” The violet eyes sparkled and gazed eagerly at Robin. “After all, I cannot have a kingdom where the two disobedient Robins live – I don’t believe that I can handle two Robins. That’s enough that we have one Robin and two Richards in our country now.”

Robin took a deep breath to calm the frantic beating of his heart, for the thoughts of King Richard and his disappearance inflicted almost inhuman pain on his heart. “Great! Our kingdom will be difficult to rule, my dear wife, but I am sure that you will cope with this task very well.” He winked at her.

Melisende winked back at him, her gaze oscillating between her husband and their son. "Robin, our son has your hair." She pointed a finger at the mass of downy sandy-colored hair on the boy’s small head.

Robin placed a soft kiss on the baby's head. "Yes, he has taken it after me.”

As the ladies-in-waiting and the midwife hastened to leave Robin and Melisende together with their son, Robin raised a hand to prevent them from walking out of the bedchamber. He passed the child to Melisende, and then walked towards the other women who paused near the door.

Robin stopped beside the three women and perused them. “Now listen to me very carefully,” he began. “I was at Queen Eleanor’s court in Poitiers, and I know all the grievous news of the past months.”

Melisende lifted a brow. “You already know?”

Robin gave a slight nod, sighing deeply. “Yes, I do.” His gaze flew to his wife’s ladies-in-waiting and the midwife. “I know that Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine was arrested in England five months ago. I know that our king was lost somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea about three months ago.” His face was blank, but his lugubrious eyes unveiled his pain. “Given the extent of political uncertainty after the king’s disappearance and the queen arrest, I strictly prohibit you from uttering a word about my survival.”

Every pair of astonished eyes was on Robin. Melisende nodded her agreement.

“But why is it so necessary, if I may ask you, Lord Huntingdon?” Catherine de Mathefelon was bolder than the others, and she knew Robin better as well.

“It is very important to keep my return a secret until a suitable moment,” Robin enlightened in a calm voice that was stern and authoritative, leaving no room for objection. “In Acre, I almost died because I had to sacrifice my own life to save the king.” He surveyed them thoughtfully, his expression giving no hint of the tumult in his mind at the memory of his death in Imuiz. “I really died: I wasn’t breathing, and my heart wasn’t beating. I was really dead, but then I came back from the dead.”

“Bless my soul!” Melisende exclaimed in shock. Little Richard stirred and whimpered, as if he could feel that his father was telling a sad story about his afflictions in Acre. She cradled the child to her chest, and he calmed down.

“It is true,” Robin confirmed in a chilly voice that cut through the air like cold steel of a blade. “I died and then came back, and I didn’t give any signs that I was alive for quite some time.” He sighed. “My heart was beating so slowly and my breathing was so shallow that nobody in Imuiz could have understood that I was alive. Then my unconscious body was lost in a heavy sandstorm.”

Robin sighed heavily and then was quiet for a moment, lost in thoughts. He was puzzled with his own ability to keep calmness and coolness while speaking about his own death. However, in reality, he was calm only outwardly, for the consequences of his near-death experience – his confusion and his disillusionment – were worse than a physical pain at his core. With effort, he forced himself to stop thinking of his personal tragedy, and his mind drifted towards achievement, winning, and whatever else made him proud of himself and gave him more confidence. All at once, he felt that he was pleased that his today’s irony and boldness stunned everyone in the room, excluding his wife.

“But someone found you and nursed you back to life, Robin?” Melisende suggested.

“Yes,” Robin replied with an audible sigh.

“And you must have been very sick,” Melisende assumed. In reality, Robin’s tale resulted in the thunder of raging emotions inside her as feelings of pain and anxiety penetrated her heart, and she was also aware of the throbbing beat of her heart.

“It is true,” Robin said with dreadful calmness. “I am still recovering, but I will be alright in some time.”

Melisende crossed herself. “Thanks to God that you are alive, Robin.”

“It was God’s will, as Saladin and his nephew, Prince Malik, told me,” Robin opined. He had already started to believe in the words spoken to him by the wise people whom he respected a lot.

“How did you get to Saladin?” Melisende’s eyes glowed with amusement.

“I was recovering in Jerusalem,” Robin replied shortly. “I will tell you everything later.”

“Of course, Robin.” Melisende touched her son’s cheek for a brief moment.

“We have digressed from the main topic a lot.” Robin eyed the surroundings with narrowed eyes, as if he were looking for hidden enemies there. “I was very close to death for many months, and I could have departed from this word any day and any night.”

“Lord Huntingdon, we are very happy that you are alive,” Constance supplied with fake cheerfulness.

Robin’s comment drew a cordial smile from Catherine. “It is so good that you survived, Sir Robin.”

“Listen to him,” Melisende commanded, understanding that Robin had something else to say.

A dispassionate Robin continued, “I believe that God spared my life for a reason, and I am not going to waste it in vain,” he professed. “And if I have to die for my king again, I will do it willingly, but not in the situation when I may be betrayed by someone who wants to make money and make the most out of King Richard’s troubles and out of my own troubles which I will have to overcome in order to find and save the king from Prince John.” His eyes glittered with danger. “I think you suspect what I mean.”

Catherine, Constance, and the midwife flinched visibly, for they didn’t expect that the handsome young man, who had just charmed them, could be so ruthless and so dangerous just in a moment.

Melisende smiled at Robin, being quite surprised with his pragmatism. “Robin, do you wish to stay dead so far, so that we can use it to our advantage and devise a plan to find Richard?”

“Precisely,” Robin retorted meaningfully. Then he put a hand on the hilt of his scimitar. “The Queen Mother was arrested at Prince John order, and I suspect that the prince plotted against King Richard during my absence.” He tightened his grip on the hilt, running eyes over the three frightened women. “Now a warning: if one of you dares utter a word about my survival or tries to spy on me or my wife for Prince John, I won’t hesitate to kill you with my own sword.”

Catherine blinked, and her hands trembled. “It is clear, milord,” she replied curtly.

Constance shook her head, as if in agreement. “Of course, sire.”

“As you wish, my lord. Rest assured that we won’t forget your warning.” The midwife dropped her eyes, unable to withstand the intensity of Robin’s gaze.

“As for you, Lady Constance, your case is special,” Robin recommended, narrowing his eyes at the young woman. “I remember that you were Prince John’s mistress.” He paused to let his words sink in her head. When he resumed speaking, his voice was low, hissing through his clenched teeth like a snake. “Once I was deceived by Lady Isabella of Gisborne, Prince John’s lover and his spy, who participated in the regicide attempt together with Sheriff Vaisey and whose grand charade clouded the judgment of almost everyone in Imuiz.” He again trailed off, regarding them with cold eyes. He took a wheezing breath and said, “If Lady Isabella hadn’t conspired with Vaisey, this murderer would have already been detained and publicly executed, not killed by Guy of Gisborne. And if not for Lady Isabella’s treacherous actions, I wouldn’t have been so grievously wounded.”

“Isabella of Gisborne deserves to die,” Melisende added impatiently, her blood boiling with hatred.

Robin was still holding Constance’s gave. His jaw tensed as anger rose in him like a firestorm. “It is not in our jurisdiction to decide on Isabella of Gisborne’s fate, but if she tries to kill one of us or worse the king, I won’t hesitate to take her life.” His lips twitched ever so slightly, and he pressed them together tightly as rage boiled in his veins. “I don’t like killing people, especially my own countrymen. Really, I hate it.” He dragged a deep breath. “But I can clearly see now that my humanity caused my own death in Acre. I could have killed Vaisey many times in Nottingham, but I allowed him to live, thinking that it was better to deal with a known demon than with an unknown one.” He raised his chin. “I was too forgiving towards certain traitors, but now I am willing to get rid of them.”

Melisende gazed away. She was stunned how much Robin had changed during the months when of their separation. He was disillusioned – he was no longer as idealistic as he had been when she had married him in Acre. This new Robin had a steely, pragmatic side, and she contemplated these changes with interest. Her husband was still unwilling to take a human life unless it was strictly necessarily, but he had also realized that bloodshed was inevitable in real life. She was pleased with her findings, but she also experienced an aching pain that was ripping her through her, as if her heart had been torn out of her chest and stomped on at the realization of how much Robin had suffered after his death.

“I am not going to betray you, Lord Huntingdon,” Constance managed to say before her throat closed with fear. “I am bereft that King Richard hasn’t arrived home safety so far.”

Robin’s expression softened a little bit. “It is good that you are so worried about our king.” His voice sounded friendly now. “Don’t be afraid of me. I am an amicable companion and a generous lord.” He gave them a reassuring, charming smile. “But only for those who don’t betray me.”

Melisende quickly glanced over the three women. “You heard what Robin told you. Remember his words very well.” Her voice was deadly soft, her face was serene, but her eyes warned everyone about the danger. “Take my child and leave me with my husband. No word to the servants that I am not alone.”

“My friend and my brother are in the study,” Robin stated. “Bring some refreshment for them, please.” He smiled at the ladies, knowing that he had scared them a lot.

Catherine de Mathefelon took a child from Melisende’s arms, granting a cautious smile to Robin and her mistress. Constance de Toucy plastered a tiny, forced smile on her face; she was really frightened. The midwife looked indifferent, but she tended to think that their new lord was an enigmatic man; she took his warning for granted, comprehending how fiercely loyal Robin was to King Richard.

“Light candles in the chamber,” Melisende requested, her eyes on Robin’s face.

§§§

Catherine and Constance lit the candles in the master bedchamber, smiling nearly shyly at the reunited spouses. They also took the baby boy to his nursery, where he would soon be fed by his wet-nurse.

In a few moments, Robin and Melisende remained alone. Robin shifted on the bed to be closer to his wife; he was looking into her eyes, his own eyes twinkling in delight at the thought that they finally were together, away from the prying eyes of the others. His gaze became heated as he scanned her face, his focus finally coming to rest on her eyes. Melisende held Robin’s gaze, her own alternating emotions of disbelief, amazement, delight, and happiness flashing over her face. A whirlwind of emotions battling inside her was suddenly too much to contain, and she burst into tears of relief and happiness.

Deeply moved by Melisende’s tears, Robin leaned towards her and trapped her by planting his hands on her shoulders. Then he crushed his mouth on her full lips. He kissed her gently at first, with innate tenderness and devotion, and she instantly knew that it was reality and that he was not dead, and she couldn’t imagine having a better day in her whole life. They kissed until they both were breathless and overwhelmed by magic sensations, feeling as if they were flying and were no longer in the flesh.

Robin broke the kiss and drew away slightly. “I love you,” he murmured into her mouth, gazing into her eyes. He spoke in a velvety voice, and sincerity was written all over his face and in his expressive eyes. His emotions were unguarded, and his heart was open to her at that very moment.

He told Melisende what he really felt for her. He was confused with own feelings in the wake of his near-death experience, but his heart was hammering so hard at the mere sound of his wife’s name that he knew that his already existing, fraught awareness of loving Melisende while fearing that he could be wrong was rapidly replaced by the combined acceptance of his destiny and his belief in his feelings. His heart swelled with deep love and lust for her, and the longing to tell her how he felt was rising during their conversation until he knew that he could suppress it no more. And then he confessed.

Relishing in his impassioned embrace, Melisende stared at his frank and awaiting expression; her eyes went wide, and a feeling of panic rose inside her. "Why are you telling me this, Robin?”

Melisende blushed and in an instant turned pale. Her heart began to thump. A thousand times since their wedding, she visualized Robin confessing his love to her, for she had fallen in love with him when he had courted her in Acre and later had resigned herself to loving him with an unrequited love. But then the dream of being with him in spite of not having his heart had tragically died in Imuiz. She had prepared herself for perpetual loneliness after his death, and now Robin was so close to her, saying the words which she had never dreamt of hearing from him.

“It is true,” he answered.

Not giving her a chance to speak, Robin kissed Melisende again, and, this time, it was a more possessive and hungrier kiss than the kisses they had shared today. His hands moved down to her waist, and he pulled her closer to him as he deepened the kiss that was one of the most magnificent things they had ever experienced before. He parted from her only when she was too breathless to continue responding to his sensual assault. She smiled at the thought that the skin of his hands wasn’t as calloused as it had been in Acre when he had been using his bow and sword every day on training or on the battlefield.

Melisende looked hopeful, but she didn’t dare believe that it was true. “What about Marian?”

“It is complicated,” Robin responded truthfully. “I haven’t forgotten Marian, but I cannot live without you. I was dreaming of meeting with you since I had regained my ability to think in Jerusalem.”

“Robin,” Melisende whispered against his mouth. “Oh, Robin…”

Looking in her eyes, Robin pulled her closer, holding her as tightly as he could, inhaling her luscious aroma. “I am going to be bluntly honest with you, Melisende.” he pledged. “I loved Marian for many years, and there is a certain part of my heart that still loves her.” He emitted a doleful sigh. “But the world and fate seemed to have aligned against Marian and me, and we just couldn’t be together.” He smiled sadly. “I thought that my heart was dead when she married Gisborne.” He wiped a tear that ran from her eye with his thumb. “But you breathed a new life into my bleeding and wounded heart.”

“Marian’s marriage to Guy of Gisborne was annulled.”

“Sir William de Longchamp told me about Marian’s difficult situation – she was promised to the Earl of Buckingham by Sir Edward, her father,” he said with a touch of disappointment in his voice. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. Even if I weren’t married to you, I wouldn’t have chosen her over you. My time with Marian is in the past.”

"What do you mean?"

“I loved Marian for many years, but she rejected me twice,” he explained, his expression somewhat lachrymose. “But sometimes it is more than enough for you, and you cannot tolerate it anymore. I mean that there can be no third rejection because _my great and deep love for Marian has almost run out_ , after all her lies and her confusion.” He swallowed heavily. “As I said, there is a part of my heart that will always belong to Marian and to the great love we once shared, but our relationship is over.” A feeling of bitterness slashed through his core. “I have to confess that I still regret that Marian and I were unable to understand one other, but I don’t regret that I met you and married you, Melisende.”

“You are so frank with me.” She gazed away, staring at the wall. She appreciated his hurtful honesty very much, but his words also enkindled a flame of jealousy in her heart, and she was momentarily consumed by that flame, wondering whether Robin loved both Marian and her.

“I want to be honest because you deserve this, Melisende.”

Melisende glanced back at him, and Robin could see the tears brimming in her eyes. She let out a deep breath and then spoke. “You cannot imagine how much your words mean to me, _my Robin_.”

Robin smiled at her, and Melisende smiled back at him. His smile was wicked and yet tender, sending an icy-hot sensation up and down her spine. Her sensations were compounded by the delicious, shiver-inducing sweep of his long fingers caressing her cheek and her neck as they threaded into her long red-gold hair and cupped the back of her head.

Robin smiled alluringly. “I love you,” he repeated.

“I love you, too, Robin,” she said sincerely.

"Melisende, you are worthy of all the best things a man can give you in this life,” he continued his passionate speech. “You are fearless, brave, honest, passionate, intelligent, clever, and beautiful. You are able to love with all your heart, and your great character proves your descent from that the race of goddesses who once gave birth to such great women as Eleanor of Aquitaine and you.”

“And you, Robin, are my only soulmate, my second half,” she announced, her hands lost in his sandy hair. "The love I have for you is very different from the love I could have felt for any other man. You are everything to me.” She gave him a smile of profound tenderness, and then she carried his hand to her lips. "My love is very strong, and I know that you watched it grow during the short time of our marriage.” She pressed him to herself. “And God permits you to take my heart and call it your own."

Robin felt guilty that he couldn’t tell her that she was his kindred spirit. He was still confused and he didn’t know what woman – Marian or Melisende – was his second half. Once he had believed that Marian was his kindred spirit, but the truth was that she didn’t understand him in many aspects; she also didn’t accept some of his convictions. Melisende comprehended him much better than Marian, and he needed her as much as any human being needed air to breathe. But he didn’t forget Marian either. _Maybe Marian and Melisende were the two halves of his world_ , he mused philosophically.

Robin sucked in a ragged breath, and then he kissed his wife with a long and deep kiss, a seducer’s kiss. “If you weren’t incapacitated after your labor, I would have taken you right now and here.”

Her face became euphoric, and her lips stretched in a grin of satisfaction. “I fear that soon I will have to preserve myself from your passion.” She shifted in his arms, feeling his hardness press against her hips. She wanted him so much that merely thinking about it made her lips burn for his another kiss.

He flashed a smile of pure wickedness. "You should never behave this way with me.”

Robin told Melisende everything about his miraculous survival and the healing of his grave wound; she asked him to show his scar to her, but he refused categorically. He shared with her everything about the adventures in the desert and in the Bedouins’ camp, as well as the story of his transportation by Archer to Jerusalem. Melisende was impressed with Archer’s courage and his commitment to save Robin’s life after his betrayal. She had already known from King Richard that Robin had a half-brother – Archer, and she admitted that she liked Archer much more than Guy even without knowing him.

During the next hour, they discussed the events in the Angevin Empire, trying to devise a plan to find King Richard and free Queen Eleanor from Pontefract Castle. As Prince John designated the coronation day in a few weeks, they had a little time to ponder over the recent happenings with the rightful King of England – they had to stop John from crowning himself and to oust him from power, as well as to preclude the Black Knights from taking over England. They also discussed how to find Guy of Gisborne and release Marian of Knighton and Roger de Lacy from their captivity in the Tower of London.

Robin smiled contentedly. “I am glad that the formerly disloyal vassals in Aquitaine swore their allegiance to us. I think that they will never side with Prince John again, even after my return, unless, of course, King Richard is… dead.” His voice trembled at the last words.

Melisende breathed a sigh of grief. “Robin, what if Richard was assassinated?”

As he placed a hand on his heart, Robin declared in a heartfelt tone and with devilish confidence, “No, Richard is alive. I would have felt if he died.”

“Have you already accepted the truth that Aunt Eleanor is your mother?”

Robin lowered his head. Perplexed, he was at a loss for words, and she brushed her fingers over his brow, trying to smooth the lines of worry on his forehead at the moment. He lifted his eyes to look at her, and she could see vulnerability written on his features.

“I have already accepted that Queen Eleanor is my mother,” he said quietly, but his eyes were dark with uncertainty when he locked his gaze with hers again. “I was shocked when Richard told me the truth. I hated Eleanor and my father, and the only real thing seemed to be was my love for the king.”

She put a hand on his forearm. “And now?”

Robin’s lips twitched, as if he were attempting a smile. “I cannot say that I love the Queen Mother, but I am deeply grateful to her for everything she did for me. She had a difficult life, and she suffered too much due to King Henry‘s vengeful nature. And despite everything she survived through, she protected me as much as she could and in the ways she could – through Richard and Sir Edward.”

“You changed a lot, Robin,” she concluded.

He arched a brow. “Really?”

Melisende stroked the curly hair on the back of his neck. “Robin, you matured and learned to accept reality, even if it is very painful for such an idealist as you once were.” Her hand caressed a mane of his hair fondly, soft and thick and so familiar. “I know that it hurts you to live in this hostile and cruel world, but you have to learn and you can learn, Robin.” She gave him a large smile. “One cannot rise to the heights of the world without making sacrifices and endeavoring to do this.”

“Yeah, I know, my goddess of wisdom,” he gave a riposte. His voice deepened to something far more serious as he uttered, “But you are right that it still hurts to be as disillusioned as I have become. It hurts to understand that my dreamers will never become real.”

“Never fear, Robin. I will always be at your side,” she pledged. “We are together.”

“Together,” he echoed.

She pulled back enough to look at her husband, thinking that she was married to the most handsome man she had ever met. “And we will find Richard and free Aunt Eleanor.”

He smiled at his wife, and his smile was like lightning across thunderous skies, blinding and dazzling and mysterious. “We will do this for England, for King Richard, for Queen Eleanor, and for us,” he said, in one breath. “We will save Richard for us – for you, for me, and for our son.”

She winded her arms around his neck, burying her hands in his hair. “You are my heroic and irresistible Robin Hood!” she flattered him, grinning.

Robin laughed, tossing his head back. “My darling, you are my loving wife.”

“Yes, I am.”

Suddenly, he tensed and put a finger to her lips. “Shhh,” he whispered. “We are not alone.”

Robin disentwined himself from their embrace and got to his feet, frantically looking around. He unsheathed his scimitar that noiselessly slid out of the scabbard, and the blade glittered in the torchlight. After she had donned her night robe, Melisende climbed out of the bed and grabbed her elegant French sword.

The Huntingdon couple moved towards the dark alcove in the corner, where there was a secret door leading to the second staircase that could be used to get out of the château. Melisende opened the door, and they found themselves on the staircase flight, their eyes examining their surroundings.

At first, there was a deathly silence, but then they heard a light tread of receding footsteps.

Melisende inhaled the delicate and familiar scent, which was a subtle blend of sweet woodruff, rose oil, and jasmine. She blinked, and then her eyes widened. She raced down the stairs, feeling a surge of dread mingled with unbridled fury shoot through her. Her husband followed her step by step, alarmed to the danger and ready to attack anyone who dared try to harm them.

They picked up their pace, but Robin couldn’t run as fast as Melisende could. Suddenly, Melisende disappeared from the stairs. He rushed forward, his sword drawn as he tried to find her and stave off the impending disaster; a feeling of growing panic and a terrifying sensation of dread swept through him. Then he stopped abruptly as he saw his wife standing on the lower staircase flight beside her lady-in-waiting – Lady Constance de Toucy. He was amazed as he observed Melisende grab Constance’s shoulders and shake her rudely, in a brutal, unfeeling manner.

“Constance, you have been spying on me! You betrayed me, and I trusted you so much,” Melisende hissed between set teeth. “How long have you been John’s spy in my household?”

Constance de Toucy swallowed her sobs; she looked very scared. “I am sorry, I am so sorry…”

Robin stopped next to the two quarreling women, his gaze shuffling from Melisende to Constance. “We cannot consider granting our forgiveness to you, and your apology means nothing to us.” He grimaced as a feeling of raw, burning hatred passed through him. “But you still have to answer some questions.”

“I have nothing… to say,” Constance sniffled.

“We are lucky that my husband has such a great vigilance. Thank my Robin for the discovery of your treason, Constance,” Melisende commented, a lethally sweet smile curving her lips.

Robin slashed his scimitar in the air, causing a large vortex to appear. “I just heard the door’s crack or something akin to it.” He cast a brief look at the blade that gleamed in the moonlight that shone at them through the large window above the staircase. “After years of heading the king’s private guard, I can hear every step, every word, every movement, and every sound. I always sense danger.” He let out a bitter sigh. “I feel danger in most cases,” he corrected himself.

Melisende didn’t release her lady. “So you were going to inform John that Robin is alive and that we are planning to find Richard and free Aunt Eleanor.”

Constance’s face blanched before it blushed again. “Lady Melisende, I will tell you nothing.” Her gaze slid to Robin, and her eyes filled with contempt. “Your husband is not my lord, and I don’t respect him at all! He is an outlaw and his place is in Sherwood, not in your château and in your bed!”

Melisende smacked the other woman hard across her face. “Don’t you dare accuse Robin of anything, you treacherous whore!” She slapped her again. “I know that you are John’s spy! You betrayed me!”

“Forget about her, Melisende,” Robin advised in a tired voice. “I don’t care what she thinks of me.”

“Her betrayal predestined her end,” Melisende gave her verdict.

Robin looked down, at his scimitar; his heart skipped a beat, and his whole body froze with agitation for an awful moment. “Unfortunately, Lady Constance, we have to take your life. I warned you today, but you didn’t listen. We cannot take additional risks now.”

“Damn you, Lady Melisende!” Constance bellowed. “Don’t you understand that Prince John will be a better king?” She glared at Robin, her face infused with all the hatred and rage she had in her heart. “This filthy outlaw may free the king who doesn’t care about his country and who prefers to fight foreign wars and deplete England’s treasury. At least Prince John is in England.”

Robin felt rage boiling in his veins. “If I were in your shoes, Lady Constance, I would have been silent.”

“Shut up, you piece of trash,” Melisende growled, her heart pounding with anger.

Constance squirmed out of Melisende’s grip and rammed a fist into her mistress’ face. Melisende staggered backwards, and her sword slipped from her right hand; Robin took a step to her and supported her. At the same time, Constance grabbed Melisende’s sword from the ground and made an assault on Robin, who stood half turned to her, his left arm wrapped around Melisende who was almost ambushed by the violent attack, the other gripping his scimitar tightly.

Robin reacted immediately, as the long six years he had spent in Outremer had taught him caution and attention to each and every minor detail, movement, and a glimpse of something. He gently jostled Melisende away from him, at first holding her at arm's length and then again pushing her aside. She almost lost her balance but regained it by holding onto the banister for support.

He blocked Constance’s overhead blow just in time to save his own life. He lunged at Constance and crisscrossed their blades, and then a scream of pain resonated in the air as his sword sliced her in her right side deeply through her ribs. She tumbled to the floor, looking at Robin with sheer hatred; she dropped Melisende’s sword that clattered on the stone floor when it hit it.

“I am sorry,” Robin said in a mortuary voice. “You attacked me. I had to defend myself.”

“I hate you, Robin Hood! You are a damned outlaw!” Constance shouted as she scrambled to her feet, clutching her wound with her hand. “You think that you can save England and the king!” Her blue velvet cloak was stained with her own blood. “I won’t allow you to meddle in John’s deals.”

With a swift movement, Constance extracted a curved dagger from the inner pocket of her cloak. But she didn’t have time to act: another dagger flew in the air, and loud damning words boomed around them. In a moment, the perfidious woman lay on her back, her eyes sightless, her mouth opened slightly, as if in shock, and the hilt of Melisende’s dagger protruded from beneath her chin.

Melisende appeared beside Robin. She gasped in disbelief and shock at the realization of what she had just done to the lady who had served her for about five years. Calling on all her inner resources to regain her composure, she steadied her breathing and settled her mind on the inevitability of her lady-in-waiting’s death. "Constance cannot accuse anyone of her death because she earned it."

Robin nodded slowly. “Yes,” he whispered, resigned but still disbelieving.

“It was a poisoned dagger. She collected it in my chamber.” She glared murderously at her lady’s corpse. “If she managed to throw it at you, Robin, you would have been dead in several hours.”

His brow curved. “You use poisoned daggers, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” she acknowledged with sadness. “Some of the rebellious vassals tried to kill me several times. I am alive only thanks to my outstanding swordplay and to some other tricks of mine.”

His heart leaped with worry. “Who tried to kill you?” In a moment, his heart was already thrumming with rage, and there was the predatory light in his eyes. “Give me their names, Melisende. Now they are my vassals, too, and I will kill them for your safety and for the safety of our son.”

She refused to make eye contact for a few moments before turning to him and locking her uneasy gaze met Robin’s. “I killed one of them when he attacked me after one of the feasts at court. Another traitor attacked me in the woods, and I slashed his throat in time before he could slash mine. Aunt Eleanor officially executed the third man.”

Robin nodded, understanding the motive behind her actions. He was not shocked: he was stunned that his wife had murdered several people. Marian had never killed a man in her life, and that was another difference between Melisende and his former betrothed. But Melisende was a Plantagenet by blood and birth, and he understood that her life was different from Marian’s. The Plantagenets were a royal dynasty, and there was a fierce struggle for power between the family members – bloodshed was unavoidable. Robin was very grateful to King Richard for teaching Melisende to fight.

Melisende stepped towards Robin, unsure what he thought of her at the moment. “Robin, you won’t stop loving me now, will you?” She made a sharp intake of breath. “I mean after my confession.”

His sword dropped to the floor with a clang. Robin cupped her face and let his mouth hover over hers. Then he planted a sweet kiss on her lips. “Never think of such ridiculous things, my love!”

Robin engulfed Melisende in his arms, and she held on, feeling lightheaded from his closeness and dizzy from his warm and unequivocally masculine scent that filled her nostrils and pumped through her bloodstream. Entwined in each other’s arms and listening to the loud beating of their hearts, they slowly walked back to the bedchamber, their stride smooth and flowing over the floor.

They both were shocked with the sickening understanding of how far Prince John could go to collect tidbits of precious information against King Richard and his other relatives. They realized that they had to be overcautious onwards; Melisende assured Robin that she would deal with Constance’s body in the morning, representing the case as an attempted robbery when her lady was killed by accident.

The happy couple spent the whole night at Château de Roquetaillade. Robin stayed with Melisende, who still felt weak from childbirth and affected by the grisly events with Prince John’s spy. Catherine and the midwife brought the crib to the Countess of Huntingdon’s room, and they spent several hours watching the boy sleep in peaceful awe. They enthusiastically debated over little Richard’s betrothals to one of the Norman, Poitevin, or Saxon heiresses. Robin began to think of his future children’s names and blurted out cocksurely that all his sons would resemble him, and Melisende laughed at him in response, threatening to deny him her wifely duties if he didn’t stop pedaling his annoying drivel.

Archer and Carter briefly met Melisende in the master bedchamber and thanked her for hospitality – for two warm beds in the guests’ quarters and for luxurious French food served to them by Lady Catherine de Mathefelon in the bedrooms to avoid being seen by the other servants. Archer was fascinated by Melisende a lot, considering her the most beautiful woman whom he had ever met.

The morning sun rose bright and resplendent, painting the sky in pink and rich red ochre. Robin, Carter, and Archer left the château in the early hours of the next day, heading to the inn in Mazères, where Will, Djaq, and Tuck joined them in their continuing voyage to the north. They planned to travel to Calais incognito, taking an inland route through Aquitaine, Anjou, Maine, and Normandy.

§§§

Nobody came to the dungeons for more than a week, save for a few guards who threw loaves of bread and flasks of water to Megan and Guy, which was standard food in jail. The gloom settled heavily upon the prisoners, who waited for Isabella’s new visit, or Prince John’s official order to execute them. The two jailbirds spent most of their time in silence, but from time to time they talked about everything and nothing and then circled back to talk about trifles again, for silence seemed worse than death.

After Megan had been apprehended, Guy was never tortured and had much time to contemplate his life – all his crimes, missteps, mistakes, and miscalculations. He spent many hours pondering over the bad things which he had committed in his life, but most of the time he thought of his service to Vaisey. A tapestry of his life emerged in his mind as a sequence of morally degrading events since the day of the fire at Gisborne Manor, the years filled with misery, pain, and decadence. At present, Guy was sure that everything he had endured after his arrest was God’s punishment for his heinous crimes.

The last torture had a profound emotional impact on Guy. Before he had never been put to the rack, although he had frequently watched Vaisey torture prisoners and laugh when they had writhed in pain and at times even in death throes. Guy himself had usually observed the torture with a somber and guarded expression, but he had never enjoyed the process as much as the sheriff had always felt. Now, after the months of imprisonment and after being on the receiving end of the inhuman torture, Guy repented of all the cruel things he had done to the prisoners with his own hands.

Gisborne’s opinion concurred with those of King Richard and Robin: Vaisey, who had caused so much pain and grief to countless people, must have been hanged, drawn, and quartered in front of the eyes of a bloodthirsty crowd. He could have watched Vaisey’s public execution, luxuriating in a feeling of satisfaction that his ex-master’s end was gruesome and barbaric, but instead he had contravened the king’s order and had dug his own grave. His only consolation was that Vaisey had died at his blade. However, to him, it was a bitter pill to swallow that he himself would either die in the underground dungeons or would be executed on the day of Prince John’s coronation, in the same manner as the sheriff could have been executed at King Richard’s behest.

The more time Guy spent with Lady Megan Bennet, the more he liked her. Megan and he found in each other a source of inspiration, hope, and motivation not to give up on themselves, and a sense of camaraderie developed between them. Maybe they felt emotionally close because they were facing the impending death in the dungeons together, tied to one another with an invisible thread of the hopelessness of their situation. Their communication was like twilight in the pitchy darkness, and it encouraged them to persevere through the challenges and perils – to keep fighting for their lives.

Megan lay on her straw mattress, her eyes tightly shut. She was dimly aware of passing hours, as light sometimes filtered through her eyelids and other times didn't. “It is so bad that Sir Robin is dead,” she said after a long pause. “He would have rescued King Richard and us.”

Guy was lying on his own mattress in his cell, staring at the dark ceiling. He was quiet for a moment, and then he replied with a sigh, “Robin was a good man; he was a true hero and a temerarious soldier. I regret that he is no longer with us.”

She drew her fingers through a gorgeous mass of her dark hair, as if she were combing it. “I last met Sir Robin of Locksley at court in Poitiers about two years ago. I was annoyed that he again was itching to be in the center of attention and that all of Queen Eleanor’s ladies wanted to be with him.” She breathed a sigh of regret. “I didn’t know that I would never see him again.”

They remembered the hero again and then gave a tribute to him by silently praying for Robin’s eternal peace in Heaven. Soon they found themselves sitting on the floor near the grating, which had already become their habit to beguile long, endlessly stressful hours with each other.

Guy gave Megan a pained smile. “Tell me the truth, Meg: did you ever feel any kind of attraction to Robin? I can hardly believe that you are not like many others who fell for him at first glance or who dreamt of becoming a sweetheart of England’s most famous hero.” For whatever reason, he needed to know that.

Megan looked at Guy, her face flushing with rising anger. “Sir Robin was a great man, as I told you once, but I would have never fallen for him.” She crossed herself. “May his soul rest in peace…” Her heart began to pound harder. “Sir Robin wasn’t my type of a man.”

An amazed Guy was smiling. His voice turned sly. “I suppose that you rejected too many suitors if you dare say such things about the great Robin Hood.”

Megan rose to her feet from the floor. “Guy, do I look like a woman who is very much charmed by thoughts of matrimony and who is ready to renounce her liberty to a man I am not attracted to?”

“I am well aware of your independent spirit,” he said, smiling somewhat teasingly. “Your independence and constant rejections of marriage proposals have become a legend at many royal courts.”

Megan raised her chin with scrumptious pride. “I am not a breeding cow that will marry a man of my father’s choice and will live a life of a controlled woman. I would rather die than marry a fat and old lord, even if he is rich and highborn. I will marry only a man whom I love.”

“I hope that it will happen as you wish,” he wished her sincerely. Then, he mimicked her verbal attack with the difference that he directed it at her and women, not at men like she had done. “That’s why you and other decent maids carry yourself like a queen and spend your days rejecting your suitors.”

An incisive laugh erupted from her mouth. “You are right, Sir Guy of Gisborne!” she exclaimed. “I am a proud noblewoman of great prospects, and I won’t allow any lord to court me unless I see that he is worthy of my affection and attention.” She planted her hands on her hips, and her face turned dreamy. “I would have recognized such a man – the love of my life – in a throng. A woman always feels and knows when she meets her destiny, like a sailor knows the open sea.”

“Maybe you are right, Meg.”   

Guy looked at Megan in fascination. The blush of reverent pride mingled with the natural modesty which suddenly suffused her cheeks, the brilliancy and depth of her strikingly blue eyes, and her brave and honest manner of leading a conversation – all these things altogether produced an indescribably deep effect on Guy. As his mind floated to the days of his marriage to Marian, his heart skipped a beat and then beat rapidly: he had never heard such words from Marian, who had compared him with Robin and had been torn between him and his former enemy. Megan was similar to Marian in stubbornness and willfulness, but Megan’s head was free from confusion, and she was more experienced in the matters of understanding human nature, probably thanks to the fact that she had grown up at court.

Megan slanted a furtive glance at him. “Guy, Amicia told me that you had lost your wife,” she said, unexpectedly even to herself.

“Yes, I did.”

Megan sat down on the floor, gazing at Guy. “Is it painful to lose someone you love?”

“I suppose so.”

She was biting her tongue so she wouldn’t ask him anything else about Marian and their marriage, but something inside of her spurred her to continue questioning him. “But did an annulment hurt you?”

“Why do you need to know this, Meg?”

“I have never loved a man, and I am just curious.”

In a short silence, Guy held debate with himself, being conflicted over his feelings for Marian. There was still a sincere passion for her in his heart, but his hope to be loved by her seemed a deceitful dream, like a fog dispelled by the wind. “It would have given me much pain a year ago, but not now.” He was surprised how easily and quickly the words came out of his mouth. "Since my last trip to the Holy Land, many things changed. Most importantly, I changed and re-assessed life values.”

“Then you loved what you wanted your wife to be like and not the person she truly was. Or you might have loved her with a sort of warped love; I mean that it might have been not a healthy, pure, and unselfish love but something else,” she surmised.

"This idea occurred to me once," he acknowledged. “But I really loved her.” He was confused as two contradicting thoughts were whirling in his head. At one side, he wanted to persuade himself that he still needed Marian with a gnawing, aching desperation, and yet he felt that it wasn’t true because he had become a self-sufficient man, strong enough to redeem himself not through his love for any woman but through good deeds and sacrifices.

"Ah, well," she said with a note of chagrin. “You know better.”

“Perhaps only God knows the truth.”

“I see.” Megan was jealous of Guy to the lady who used to be Robin Hood’s sweetheart and Guy’s wife.

They relapsed into silence, each of them lost in a maze of their own thoughts.

Megan sighed wearily. The more time she spent in the dungeons, the more unusual her sensations were. After a month of her imprisonment, Megan felt as if she remained in a long reverie. Soon she could no longer distinguish her waking hours from nighttime, dreams from reality, hallucinations from real images, and day from night. All these things were mixed, messed up, and chaotic, floating in her tired mind. She no longer felt anything, apart from the worry about her father and King Richard; she no longer knew anything for sure, and she no longer thought. Strangely, she found it hard even to dream.

“Guy, I feel that I am going mad,” Megan complained, breaking the silence. “I am like a chained creature living in nothingness, for I have begun to forget what normal life is like.”

Guy gave her a knowing look. “I feel the same, Meg. Now I am calmer than I was at the beginning.”

She sighed. “It is very disturbing that I have lost my ability to experience delight and joy.” She looked up, at the damp ceiling watching a droplet of rain fall on her. She shifted on the floor and moved her arms, and the iron shackles on her wrists rattled. “These dungeons are very damp.”

“The dampness percolates through the small crevices in the ceiling.”

“Usually, droplets fall at regular intervals,” she remarked. “I often listen to this noise.”

“And so do I.”

"Ah!" Megan cried out, putting her hands on her eyes, as if she were shielding herself from the misery of the dungeons. A convulsive trembling shook her whole frame as despair overcame her. “We, innocent prisoners, will die here, and King Richard is doomed to stay captive forever!”

Guy sighed resignedly. “I am afraid that it might be true. I mean our deaths here.”

“Are you scared at least a little?” she asked inquisitively.

He raised a quizzical brow. “Scared of what?”

She scoffed. “I mean your date with an executioner.”

“Do I look scared, young lady?” he challenged her, like he would have treated any impertinent girl.

“Actually, no.”

Guy smiled. “I feel terrible, but I am not frightened to die. Instead, I feel completely free from my old demons, but I do fear where I will go in the afterlife.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Interesting.”

“Well, why shouldn’t I fear the pain of execution? It will happen quickly, unless they sentence me to being hanged, drawn, and quartered.”

“I meant that you must fear to go to hell because of all the awful things you have done in your life. No one actually seems sorry that you are on the way out, do they? Does it not make you saddened?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I can’t alter the public opinion about me. What is done is done.” His chest filled with regret and guilt. “And if I am to die, then so be it. I am just worried about King Richard, Marian, and my friends. If I could have helped them, I would have done that with great pleasure.”

“Your former wife,” she murmured, then put a hand on her mouth. “I am sorry.”

Guy waved a dismissive hand. “You did nothing wrong, Meg. Don’t apologize.” He muttered something unclear. “It is alright. It doesn’t hurt me as much as it would hurt me a year ago,” he reiterated what he had already told her today.

She blinked, her expression befuddled. “Really?”

“Precisely what you heard me say.”

Guy noticed again that he didn’t need to pretend that her words didn't hurt him, feeling as if he had shoved them out with an air of neglectful causality. Nevertheless, deeply under the surface, there was still a wound in his heart as Marian wasn’t his anymore, and there was a lingering feeling of regret that after all she was lost to him forever. But, strictly speaking, her heart had never been only his!

Hours were slipping away, and, finally, darkness descended upon Nottingham. Both Megan and Guy wished the numbing fingers of sleep to creep over them, but it was hard to fall asleep that night.

Megan hated sleeping on her hard straw mattress. She jumped to her feet and squatted near the wall, trembling all over as her mind burned with thoughts of the king’s possible death and as she thought of her father who must have been going insane in the light of her disappearance. She couldn’t try to guess without a shudder in her chest what her father was thinking of: Sir Hugh Bennet knew that she had attempted to spy on Isabella of Gisborne, and he had surely understood that she had landed in trouble as she hadn’t returned home for so long. But as nobody knew about the underground prison, then she would die there with Guy, and her father would learn nothing about her end.

Tonight Guy didn’t sleep either, thinking of their lousy situation, but even more of Megan. To the Black Knights and Prince John, she was a mere inconvenience to be removed. He had no doubt that John would order her execution, for Megan had ruined her last chance to get her freedom back by insulting Isabella. The thought that they would die in the dungeons or would be executed, while the king languished in the foreign prison made him angrier: he hated Prince John, Vaisey, Isabella, and himself with a virulent hatred. But the heat of anger couldn’t burn through the thick walls that surrounded Megan and him, and it couldn’t lift the crushing weight of his helplessness either.

Few things could make a man feel more miserable than an impotent anger and feelings of helplessness and worthlessness. That was what had happened to Guy, who was bathing in a sea of self-loathing.

At dawn, the heavy door flung open, and Blamire entered Guy’s cell, holding one torch in his hand. The light of the torches threw shadows on the somber stone walls, and Guy saw a stranger, escorted by two guards with torches. In a moment, he recognized the Baron of Rotherham in him, who stood near Blamire, smiling malignantly at Guy. Guy was shocked to see how pale and thin Rotherham was, which must have been the consequence of his severe lung injury, he believed.

“It was a boring week, but we will have much fun tonight,” Rotherham promulgated in a sardonic voice. He barked an order to Blamire and, snickering from across the cell, swung around and walked away.

Guy understood the meaning – Rotherham intended to torture him. In the next moment, one of the guards jabbed Guy in the ribs, and then he was grabbed by his shoulders and dragged to the corridor.

His forced departure was accompanied by the guards’ odious laughter and by Megan’s hastily asked questions where they were taking Guy. The last thing Guy heard was the sound of a hard slap on someone’s cheek, understanding that Rotherham had slapped Megan across her face. Rage filled Guy's heart, and he began to struggle with his captors, but a fierce pain slashed through his skull as he was hit on the nape of his head. His world morphed into a mist of pain, and then he passed out.

The Baron of Rotherham meted out one of Vaisey’s most inhuman tortures to Guy. Guy regained his consciousness in the torture room, but he didn’t understand at first what was happening to him. But when he saw a torture device in Rotherham’s hands and shuddered in horror, as he recalled that the sheriff had boasted that he had invented the torture that would inflict on a victim the most agonizing pain possible. Now Guy had a chance to test the seriousness of Vaisey’s words on his own body.

The torture device consisted of a metal piece with two opposed bi-pronged forks attached to a leather strap. One of the guards pushed one end of the device under Guy’s chin, the other to the sternum, and the strap was used to secure Guy’s neck to the tool, while his body was dangling from the ceiling for a long time, and he couldn’t sleep during all these hours. In the end, Guy dropped his head to his chest, and the prongs slightly pierced the skin of his neck and injured his chest, and Rotherham commanded to retrieve the torture device from his neck before it could cause any fatal damage to his throat.

The torture was over, and Guy was so weak that he simply allowed the guards to carry him to a torture table and put him on his stomach; then his wrists and ankles were tied to the corners of the table. Through a haze swirling in his head, Guy saw Rotherham take a long leather whip with small pieces of metal at the tip, which Blamire had once used to inflict more pain on him. A sudden dread chilled him to his marrow, and he repressed a scream of horror.

Rotherham laughed spitefully at the top of his lungs. “I will show you what life in Heaven is like, Gisborne!” he threatened. “I have never liked you, but Vaisey favored and loved you beyond measure.”

Guy mustered all his courage to reply. “I have never liked you either, Rotherham.”

Rotherham clapped his hands in delight. “You will be a piece of meat after I am done with you!”

“Go to hell, you asshole,” Guy snarled.

“What did you say, you damned bastard?” The Baron of Rotherham brought the whip before Guy’s eyes. “You have my word that my flogging of you will be worse than Blamire’s!”

“Do whatever you like,” the prisoner parried.

Rotherham croaked with laughter. “You must not be angry with me, Gisborne.” He smashed his fist into Guy’s face. “You deserve this punishment for murdering Lord Vaisey, your master.” He punched Guy in his nose. “You killed one of us, one of the Black Knights, and you will pay for that.”

Rotherham took a swing with the whip and then crushed it on Guy’s naked back. More lashes followed, and blood began seeping from shredded skin; the sound of the beating was reverberating savagely in Guy’s ears. Guy moaned and writhed in pain, while Rotherham laughed at his agony. And then Guy stopped groaning, and numbness took possession of him; the sadness of such a terrible treatment wholly extinguished in him any willingness to struggle, but his will still wasn’t broken.

After Guy had been given at least twenty-five lashes, the punishment was ceased. Blamire came to the room, his gaze stopping on Guy; he approached Rotherham and whispered something into his ear. With a triumphal smile on his face, Rotherham made his way to the table and picked up a leather tapering whip of long, knotted, plaited thongs with metal nails on the tip.

“This whip is new, and it is worse,” Blamire enlightened, a sadistic smile hovering over his lips.

“Exactly what I need,” Rotherham retorted, tittering and adding how much fun he would have.

“If I survive, I will kill you myself, Rotherham,” Guy took an oath. His voice was shaking as he shrank away with horror at the prospect of what was coming to him. “I will kill you with my bare hands.”

Rotherham and Blamire burst into steel-hearted laughter, spilling their bile and callosity into it.

“You won’t kill me before I marry my sweet Megan Bennet, who was your companion during the past few weeks,” Rotherham said in sing-song tones, brandishing the whip threateningly at Guy's lacerated back. “She is a reluctant bride, but she will become a complaisant wife once I break her will.”

Guy laughed. “You will never do that.”

The Baron of Rotherham raised a brow. “And why?”

“Because she is strong and stout-hearted,” Guy said firmly.

“Gisborne, Lady Isabella told me that you became caged lovebirds,” Rotherham snarled. “I am willing to punish you more harshly for that.”

Guy felt a searing pain in his back as Rotherham struck his back with the whip with an inhuman violence. Another lash followed, then another and another, and more.

Every new lash stole Guy’s breath away, and he howled with pain, thinking that even the first torture in hadn’t been as dreadful as the current one. The pain was unbearable, and Guy started sobbing, his body shaking violently. Nausea passed through him in a surging wave, and a sickening feeling of being subject to such a cutthroat excruciation overpowered him. Guy vomited and almost choked when the contents of his stomach went out as a new wave of nausea clutched his stomach.

Although his mind was dazed with pain, Guy distinguished the outlines of a tall woman, her long dark hair arranged in an elegant twist, revealing the fine contours of her high cheekbones and emphasizing the grace of her neck. She wore a long green and yellow silk gown with a deep squire-cut neckline and sleeves tight to the wrists, the front adorned with silver and gold braid. As Guy’s steel blue eyes locked with the woman’s eyes of the same color, he recognized his own sister in the guest.

“Isabella, just kill me, please,” an afflicted Guy begged, his eyes large and pleading.

Guy uttered these words with such deep anguish, with utter gravity and yet with a clear note of intense despair, that Isabella couldn’t restrain a sob from escaping her lips. She was shocked to see the picture of her brother’s half-dead form on the table, and her heart flipped over, and then over again.

For the first time in many years, Isabella pitied Guy. “Enough!” her voice boomed.

“No, Lady Isabella, this is not enough!” Rotherham protested, shaking his head. “Prince John wants to execute Gisborne publicly, making an example out of him.”

“Stop it!” Isabella shouted. “Lord Rotherham, I didn’t order you to kill him with your flogging!”

“As you wish, my lady,” Rotherham conceded with a look of wonder, for he didn’t anticipate seeing empathy from Isabella to Guy. “You shouldn’t pity him as–”

“Don’t say anything else, my lord,” Isabella interrupted him, turning to face the guards who stood behind her, and she nodded at them. “Take Guy to his cell and be careful while carrying him,” she commanded. “I will invite Doctor Blight to him today, and I myself will come to him later.”

Guy no longer could think and speak. He cast a blurred glance at Isabella and two guards, whom he recognized. His vision was unclear as black spots danced before his eyes, and he blinked. His heart was beating to suffocation, as if he had just started a headlong race, and the soft folds of blankness were enveloping his body and pressing down upon him from the top. Guy was in such a hellish pain that he couldn't carry on anymore. Darkness – his savior – enshrouded him and swallowed him up.

At the lady sheriff’s instruction, Sir Aubrey of Peterborough and Sir Roderick of Bardney, who were sympathetic to him, carried the beaten prisoner to his cell as carefully as they could, trying not to hurt him. Meanwhile, Isabella set a course for Megan’s cell, accelerating her footsteps as she walked.

Megan jumped to her feet as she saw Isabella. She anticipated that the lady sheriff came to gloat, but she was stunned to discover that Isabella looked very uneasy, if not terrified. There was an unfamiliar light in Isabella’s eyes that were stormy with emotions which Megan hadn’t seen in her before.

“Megan, you have to aid Guy,” Isabella began in a strangled voice.

“What happened?” Megan’s eyes were wide in horror.

“Guy was tortured, very brutally,” Isabella replied huskily, her eyes downcast.

Megan clenched her fists. “You tortured your own brother, you snake!” she cried out as anger built up in her veins. “Do you have at least some warmth left in your cold heart? He is your brother!”

Isabella had the good grace not to look at the other woman. “I didn’t order to torture Guy during the last few weeks, and I never wanted to torture him so… brutally.” She ran her hand through her hair, and finally swung her gaze to Megan. “Rotherham tortured him.”

“Rotherham is a fiend!” Megan roared, her face turning white as fury overmastered her. “All the Black Knights are beasts! Prince John is a beast!” She pointed at Isabella. “You are a beast too!”

“Spare me your anger, you little fool,” Isabella fired back, her lips thinning as she was getting angry. “Go and take care of Guy instead of blathering on and on. I will fetch the physician.”

Guy opened his eyes and winced as a sharp pain shot through his body. He realized that he lay face down, on his belly, with his legs and arms outstretched. But neither his hands nor his legs were shackled, and he just lay flat on his mattress, struggling for every breath and fighting for his life. But Guy didn’t mind the pain that coursed through his body, indifferent to his own death.

He watched a pair of slender legs appear near his mattress, and he heard a voice whispering his name through the blackness. Then he felt a touch of the wet cloth on his bare wounded back. At that touch, he gave a howl as his agony was so great that he was on the verge of fainting. As the pain receded and his ability to think returned, he found himself looking at the woman’s tear-stained face, for she bent her head down was and her face was in inches from Guy’s. She was Megan.

“You will be alright. You won’t die,” Megan murmured, tears shining in her eyes.

“I am already dead,” Guy gasped, every word filled with pain.

Guy moved his body, and a burning pain again raced through his body. He moaned and then suddenly felt a gentle hand on the injured skin of his back as it was tending to his wounds. The hand paused for a moment, giving him time to breathe and to fight off a growing nausea. And then it began cleaning his injuries again. Guy groaned, and the hand paused again.

“Doctor Blight thinks that you will contract a fever, but at least you won’t be tortured again,” she said, her voice as steady voice as she could make it sound. “You will be alright. I will take care of you.”

Guy smiled vaguely. “Do you want me to live?”

She smiled, fresh tears filling her eyes. “Yes, I do.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Looking down at his bloodied and mutilated back, Megan felt a powerful influx of sympathy in her heart. “Isabella permitted me to help you. I think she has some humanity in her frozen heart.”

Her words brought Guy’s troubled stare up to hers once more. “She does hate me.”

She smiled slightly. “She hates you, but, this time, she feared you would die.”

Megan moistened the cloth in a bowl and continued cleaning the wounds. Guy gave a howl of pain as her hand glided over the whole surface of his back down his spine. She took some salt and dissolved several pinches in the water. Blight told her that she had to wash Guy’s back twice per day with salt water for antiseptic purposes. As Megan proceeded to her task, Guy winced under her touch, and each of his groans made her heart constrict. She was trying to be careful and not to hurt him more.

Guy was barely able to drag a shallow breath, and he let the breath slowly flow out. He thought that God had sent Megan to him: she was saving his life, asking nothing else in return. He craved to thank her, and he regretted that he wasn’t a king, an emperor, an archangel, or God himself, who could reward her with the most precious treasures. But he knew that Megan needed nothing from him and was helping him out of the nobility of her heart, for she had a great deal of compassion, sweetness, and gentleness stored in her heart, which he had never seen in other women, except for Marian.

Guy moved his head to face her, and their eyes met; tears sprang into his eyes. “ _Meg, you are my angel of salvation_.” Then he shut his eyes, and darkness claimed him, but his heart was light.

Megan put away the cloth in the bowl. She leaned over her patient and pressed her palm to his unshaven cheek, caressing it with her thumbs. Then she gave him a chaste kiss on his lips. "I will save you, Guy,” she whispered. “I won’t let you die.”

§§§

The journey of Robin Hood and his friends from Aquitaine to Calais was long and arduous. It was not very cold, but the drizzling rain fell all the time, and the horses had to make their way through the mud of the roads; leaden clouds denoted more approaching storms. They didn’t travel through the territories of the Angevin Empire and France as much as they could.

Robin felt unwell and asked Djaq to give him painkilling herbs in the evenings when they stopped at various inns for a night to continue their journey to Calais later. Robin’s thoughts were pessimistic in the extreme; he fantasized that King Richard was dead and blamed himself for his failure to save his liege. His friends persuaded him to stop in one of the villagers or towns they passed by, but he snapped that there was no time for rest, for he felt that Richard’s life was in grave peril.

Robin couldn’t rest when the lives of King Richard and the Queen Mother were endangered. They had a scheduled meeting with Sir William de Longchamp in Calais, where they were supposed to intersect with Sir Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester, who had been scouting the situation for some time, and so they planned to exchange news and together decide on a course of action.

They arrived in Calais in the late dusk. The stormy clouds were black like soot-laden smoke, rushing with extraordinary swiftness across the sky, and the travelers had to hurry to find their shelter at the inn near the harbor. As they dismounted, a gust of strong wind blew from the English Channel, and they hastened to hide from the heavy rain.

Robin was the most exhausted one among his companions. He hopped down from his saddle to the ground, and Archer came to him, clasping him about the waist and supporting him. As they pulled their hoods over their heads, they walked to the entrance; Robin moved with a stiff gait, every muscle of his body was tense with discomfort. They were pleased that Carter had already rented three rooms for them; Archer was again supposed to share a room with Robin. The two brothers ascended the stairs, Carter peeped out at them from the room, signaling that they had arrived. Archer ushered Robin into the room, and the hero walked to the bed, seated himself there, and began to undress.

Outside the rain continued to pour as if the days of the world flood had come back to earth. The fire ticked softly in the hearth, but it was still cold in the chamber, and Robin started shivering. Archer went downstairs and found the innkeeper, demanding to bring more firewood to their room, for Robin needed comfortable and warm conditions for the night. Soon Archer stood on his knees by the hearth, efficiently poking at the logs and fanning the embers until the flames rose and crackled.

Archer scrambled to his feet and sat down on the chair before the hearth; then he removed his boots and his warm cloak. “How are you feeling, Robin?”

Robin shrugged. “I am fine. I will feel better in the morning.”

Archer shook his head. “I doubt that.”

“We arrived in Calais two days before the meeting with Sir William, so I have enough time for rest.”

“You need to rest more, Robin. You are not as strong as you used to be.”

Robin sighed resignedly. “I know this. Although it has healed, my wound is troubling me a great deal.” He laughed sourly. “But I cannot lose time – King Richard and England need me.”

“Brother, you must stop to devote yourself completely to the king and England,” Archer expostulated. “I don’t like Tuck, for he seems to be a fanatic. And yet, I agree with him that you need to strike a balance between your loyalty to England and to the people.”

Robin glanced at Archer astutely. His brother’s words were true, but there was no balance of loyalty in his life due to the grave secret of his birth. “I will be able to rest only when we finally learn what happened to King Richard.” As he finished undressing, he put on his long blue brocade robe. He lay back on the bed, quiet for a long moment before pulling the blanket tight under his chin.

“Robin, I am being serious. You are driving yourself to madness. You don’t eat and don’t sleep. You are always thinking of the king. You need to stop being so desperate.”

“I am always calm and reserved. I am not annoying and irritating, like Tuck.”

Archer looked at Robin, concern flooding him. “Robin, you seem to be calm, but your mood is very foul. As soon as we remain alone, you start brooding over the fates of King Richard and Queen Eleanor. You are full of anxiety, and you don’t sleep well; you fail to recover your strength at night.”

“You are right,” Robin admitted. “I am always thinking of them.”

“Then you should take care of yourself for King Richard, as you don’t want to do that for yourself.”

Robin gave a non-committal nod. “I will try.”

“No,” Archer said, his stern tone serving to express the significance of his words. “Robin, don’t be a fool. You are not invincible.” He let out a sigh. “If you don’t take good care of yourself now, you will be unable to save King Richard even with our assistance. You will have no strength.”

“God’s teeth!” Robin cursed. “I will do that just to free myself from your lectures!”

“Robin, I think we should ask Djaq to examine you,” Archer offered.

Robin nodded. “Yes. I would be grateful.”

In the evening, Robin was too tired and refrained from eating as his appetite was lacking, but Djaq compelled him to eat a bowl of poultry soup to keep his strength up. He also drank three goblets of wine, hoping to sleep better. He was tired not only due to his still-not-so-good health, but also due to his ever-increasing anxiety that was taking its toll on him. Wine and Djaq’s sleeping draught ensured that he didn’t have nightmares and phantoms that night.

Robin and his friends spent several uneventful days in Calais, waiting for de Longchamp’s arrival. On the third day, Robin and his friends, except for Tuck, headed to a tavern in the harbor, where the long-hoped-for meeting was going to take place. Everyone was hooded in order to preserve their identities.

As they entered the tavern, Robin swept his eyes over the tavern, and he grimaced. Even at the early morning hours, the place was full of customers, all seeking a pint of ale, a cup of watered wine, or something else to start the day with. The distant, ominous boom of thunder was heard even in the tavern, so Robin was pleased that they were already inside and wouldn’t be soaked to the bone.

They went to a table in a distant alcove, with the view on the raging sea. It was the most convenient place to have a quiet chat. As it was the tavern in the harbor, there were many sailors there, spending time ashore in the storm that ravaged the sea waters in the past days. There were many English Crusaders there too: they returned from the Holy Land and waited for the storm to abate in order to cross the Channel. Everyone looked with interest on the group of the hooded guests, who strode forward and seated at the table in the alcove.

Robin immediately noticed that the visitors of the tavern favored them with curious stares. Archer and Robin attracted a lot of attention as they wore quivers of arrows on their backs and Saracen scimitars that hung at their waists. Their armor generated too much interest from the Crusaders, and Robin regretted that he had taken his bow and sword to the tavern.

William de Longchamp was already late, and, without saying it aloud, Robin feared that he wouldn’t come. The bad weather could have delayed the man somewhere on the way from Poitiers to Calais.

Archer exchanged a couple of words with Robin and the others, who nodded their agreement. “Hey, my dear, it is good to see you,” he hailed the servant girl who stopped near their table. “Bring a cup of red wine for me, as well as two cups of ale and two cups of red wine for my friends.”

The girl looked at him with interest, then walked away. In several minutes, she set cups of wine and ale in front of them, sloshing some red liquid over the table. With a look of distress on her face, she leaned over to wipe up the spill, ensuring that the full mounds of her breasts wobbled temptingly close to Archer’s face while she worked. Archer winked at her cheekily, and she pretended a blush.

Carter lifted his brow. “These tavern wenches are usually frivolous, but this one is very bold.”

“Hah, of course,” Archer said brashly. “She was ready to come with one of us to a corridor or even to a street somewhere in the city right now. She doesn’t care who her bedmate is if she is paid for her services.” He sipped some ale. “And this is what I like in these young lasses.”

Robin grinned. “Archer, you seem to have had a rich collection of conquests. You have a penchant for getting on well with girls.” He still didn’t begin to drink his wine.

“My experience is nearly as great as yours, brother,” Archer riposted, slowly drinking his ale. “Carter told me that you were an infamous debauchee at court in Aquitaine.”

“Sometimes Much chatted animatedly with us about your escapades at court,” Will said as he drank his wine; he ordered warm spiced wine, like the one he always drank in Locksley.

Robin frowned, discomfited by the memory. “I had many love affairs in the past,” he acknowledged, looking into the red liquid in his cup. “But I have never been a libertine. And now I am faithful to my wife.” He sighed. “But our father, Archer, was quite a debauchee before he married… my mother.” It was more and more difficult to call Lady Elizabeth of Locksley his mother, for he had never even seen her, and now he knew that his old life was a lie and that he was the Queen Mother’s illegitimate son.

Waving his hand almost angrily as the mention of Malcolm set him on the edge, Archer gestured the servant girl to fill his cup with wine again. “Our father is a remarkable man,” he said in a sibilant voice.

“I cannot disagree,” Robin confirmed. He sipped wine, cringing in disgust.

Archer bared his teeth as he spoke. “No doubt.”

The others were taken aback by the harshness in Archer and Robin’s voices as they conversed about Malcolm of Locksley. They didn’t dare ask anything, for it wasn’t their place to interfere.

In a moment, the servant girl returned and brought several more cups of wine and ale to their table, winking at Archer who flirted brazenly with her. The wine was of poor quality and was watered too, and Robin was accustomed to the exquisite wines from the king’s private collection: the acid taste of wine made him feel nauseated, and he had to beat off the urge to vomit.

“Why are you not drinking, Robin?” Djaq asked, skipping to another topic.

Robin assessed as he set down his cup, “This wine is terrible.”

Archer swallowed some of the tart liquid before answering. “Well, brother, I think I know why you don’t like this wine: I have heard that King Richard has great taste in wines.”

“Indeed. King Richard is a connoisseur of wines, and he has his own vineyards in Bordeaux and in the Loire Valley,” Robin informed, looking into the full cup of wine which he didn’t intend to drink. “The popularity of Bordeaux wines in England increased twofold, if not more, after Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine’s marriage to King Henry. Bordeaux became the province of the Angevin Empire, and since then, the wines produced in this region were exported to England.”

“Robin,” Carter called his friend, who turned his gaze at him. “Graves is the principal wine region of Bordeaux, and you should be proud that you are their lord now.”

“Yeah, I am very proud of that,” Robin retorted with a chuckle.

Will smiled. “You seem to be an expert in wines, Robin.”

“I am not an expert, but I have taste in wines,” Robin amended. “King Richard is an expert.”

“Robin and Robert de Beaumont know a lot about Aquitaine and its culture,” Carter elaborated, tapping his chin with his fingers. “Robert spent much time at Prince Richard’s court in childhood and was greatly influenced by court life; he was born in England, but he actually grew up in the Norman and Aquitanian estates of his family.” He pointed a finger at Robin. “You, Robin, lived in Poitiers for no more than two years in total. Notwithstanding the above, you know so much about the Aquitanian culture and art; your Occitan is perfect.” He smiled admiringly. “I am greatly impressed.”

Robin shrugged elegantly. “Well, I lived in Aquitaine for some time, and I also learned many things from King Richard. Besides, I have always been interested in the Aquitanian culture.” He was relieved that his face was hooded and that his companions were unable to see how flurried he was at the moment, for his most important association with Aquitaine was the truth about his birth.

“Brother, you speak excellent Occitan,” Archer joined Carter in praising Robin. “It is very commendable that you speak several foreign languages so well.”

“I learned Occitan and five other languages in childhood,” Robin said, smiling to himself. “Sir Edward of Knighton hired for me a competent tutor. I studied literature, arts, military deal, languages, philosophy, mathematics, and many other interesting things.” He chaffed as he recalled his classes in childhood. “I didn’t want to study at first, preferring to run around in Locksley and spend time in the woods. But the old scholar managed to awake an interest in studies in me, and, in the end, I studied very hard, which predisposed my neglect of Sir Edward’s lessons in the administration of my estates.”

“Oh, you were a very naughty child,” Will interjected. He finished a cup of wine.

“Robin, your talents are awe-aspiring,” Archer appraised Robin’s abilities highly as he poked his half-brother’s shoulder playfully. He regretted that he hadn’t grown up with Robin, loathing Malcolm for abandoning him. “I know five languages, but I learned them during my voyages in the East.”

“I also learned Arabic in the Holy Land,” Robin added.

“I was stunned how proficient your Arabic is, Robin,” Djaq commented with respect. “Actually, Carter and Archer know Arabic very well, and I was impressed too.”

Archer grinned. “We impress everyone! It just cannot be otherwise!”

Carter shook his head, sniggering. “Robin and Archer, your immodesty isn’t fake, and it isn’t merely coincidental either. You both are conceited and cheeky men.”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” Robin purred in most cheerful tones. “The only shame is to have no shame at all. But it is not our case, for we are people with a great conscience.” He laughed festively.

“Straight to the point!” Archer laughed. “Yet, if you are ashamed of something, you are like a drowning man who claws his way to the top of his savior and then pushes the poor man under the water.”

“And you not only push your savior under the water but also scratch his skin and bite him with your teeth to get your way,” Carter murmured, rubbing his cheek.

Robin gave a wry smirk. “Maybe this savior needs to take swimming lessons.”

“Oh, your witty barbs are quite pleasing to our ears,” Djaq said with a smile.    

“Indeed,” Will agreed, smiling.

They stopped talking as they noticed two hooded men enter the tavern. They heard the newcomers ask one of the servants about the hooded visitors who should have already been there; those people obviously were Sir William de Longchamp and Sir Robert de Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester. Then they nodded at one of the tavern girls and stalked towards the most distant table in the alcove. Their feet were shod with fine leather boots, and their clothes made out of expensive and fashionable materials. Without the slightest doubt, they were those whom Robin and the others were waiting for an hour.

Robin stood up, his heart pounding harder in anticipation. He wanted to meet his dear and old friend Robert for so many months, knowing that his supposed death caused a lot of pain to the other man.

Robin and Robert stood before each other, and nobody dared move. A hush settled in the tavern, and everyone’s attention was centered on the mysterious meeting between the two hooded men.

The Earl of Leicester chose a moment to cover the remaining distance between them in several strides, and then he pulled Robin into his arms. Robin returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around his friend’s back. They stayed in this position for a long moment, offering each other, as always, their deep affection, unfailing friendship, and sunny happiness to see each other again.

Robert drew back and looked at Robin from under his hood. “Robin, my dear friend,” he greeted, tears shining in his pale green eyes. “You are alive! You are alive!”

Staring blindly at Robert’s handsome face shadowed by his hood, Robin felt tears sting his eyes. “Robert, my beloved Robert,” he murmured. “You see I still have a chance to bewitch you and convert you into a little bird, like me.” A little smile flashed across his expressive face. “But this time, we will cross the Channel together and fly to England, not the Mediterranean Sea, like we once jested.”

Robert smiled. “I don’t care where we will fly if I am with you.”

“I don’t mind going anywhere with you because we are always setting the heather on fire,” Robin said quietly, but his roguish grin was audible in his voice. His blue eyes sparkling, he hugged his friend fiercely again. He felt alive, so very alive, after his reunion with Melisende and Robert.

The others were smiling, happy because Robin was happy to see his best friend.

As the two friends finally disentangled from their second embrace, Robert scrutinized Robin. “How are you feeling, Robin?” he enquired solicitously. “Are you really alright?”

“Please don’t worry about me, Robert,” Robin hurried to calm him. “My life was in grave danger in the Bedouins’ camp and then in Jerusalem, but now I am more or less alright.”

A frown contorted Robert's forehead. “Sir William told me that you are not feeling well.”

Robin sighed. “Now I feel better than I felt at the time of departing from Acre,” he said, quietly making an effort to conquer his emotions. “Now we have more pressing matters on an agenda.”

“I have some news about the king. We should go to the inn,” Robert said gruffly.

Robin nodded wordlessly, turned around, and motioned his friends to stand up. Carter paid their bill, surprising the servant girl, who liked Archer, by giving her two gold coins and not asking for change. They left the tavern, accompanied by the prying glances of the Crusaders; some of them guessed whether they had fought alongside with one of the hooded men in the Holy Land, but they had no idea as to whom they really were – King Richard’s masked favorites.

They walked out of the tavern and into the rain, and the murmurs followed them as they walked. When they arrived at the inn, Will and Djaq retired to their room; during all this time, Tuck stayed in the room which he had shared with Carter. Robin, Carter, Robert, Archer, and William de Longchamp headed to the chamber shared by Robin and Archer.

The pelting rain assaulted Calais as soon as they entered the inn, and they were pleased to be in the warm room again. They flung off their wet cloaks and then seated themselves at the table, with Robin taking the closest place to the hearth. A fire blazed in the hearth, and a lamp burned on the table.

Being mildly nervous under the neutral façade, William de Longchamp eyed the group of the king’s men, resting his gaze at Robin for an unguarded instant and smiling. Then his eyes drifted to Robert. “Now, Robert, please tell our friends what you have learned about the king.”

“Should your brother stay, Robin?” Robert was surprised to learn that Archer was Robin’s half-brother, all the more a half-brother of Guy of Gisborne whom he despised with all his heart.

Archer flinched inwardly as a tremor of nervousness went through him, his eyes fixed at Robin. “I can leave if you want, brother.”

“Stay, Archer,” Robin permitted with a smile. Running his eyes over the others, he announced, “I trust Archer with my life.”

Robert regarded Archer; then his gaze flew to Robin. “Well, if you trust him, that’s enough for me.”

“Robert, what do you know about King Richard?” Carter’s impatient voice resonated.

“I tend to think that King Richard is alive, but it looks like he was _taken captive somewhere in the Holy Roman Empire_ ,” Robert de Beaumont delivered a blow to them.

Robin felt as if he had been thrown into a bottomless abyss of despair with the news. “Please tell us everything, Robert,” he spelled out in a beseeching manner.

“Of course.” Robert smile dismally. “I left Normandy and traveled to Marseilles in a merchant’s disguise and only in my loyal squire’s company. I was trying to find a trace of King Richard in the Duchy of Toulouse, in the south of France, and in Italian lands.” He sighed. “And I almost succeeded.”

“What did you find out there?” Carter hurried to ask.

Robert stared into the flames dancing in the hearth. “When I was in Marseilles, I heard from one of the Knights Templar that Richard had posed as a pirate at Cyprus and as a merchant at Corfu.” He laughed morbidly, the sound that was both painfully strained and tragic. “Later I met a party of pilgrims, who swore that they had seen Richard in Brindizi and then in Venice.”

Robin’s brow flicked upward. “Any other rumors, Robert?”

“In fact, it was not idle gossip. Richard did visit Brindizi and Venice,” Robert continued, his eyes never leaving Robin’s face. “I went to Brindizi, where I learned that King Richard was indeed there, together with a handful of his most loyal subjects.” He paused, sighing deeply. “Bad weather forced Richard's ship to cast anchor at Corfu, in the lands of the Byzantine Emperor Isaac II Angelos. That was bad for him, as the man was highly displeased with the annexation of Cyprus by Richard.”

A pensive Archer ruminated, “Well, the Byzantine Emperor must have been outraged when King Richard annexed Cyprus that is the former part of Byzantine.” He sighed. “And if the king was seen in Italy, then it means that he sailed from Corfu only in the company of his most trusted people. Then he was probably shipwrecked somewhere near the shores of the Italian Peninsula.”

“The lands of Italy and Provence were entertained by the rumors of King Richard’s incredible adventures on the way from Acre to Aquitaine,” de Longchamp intervened, his voice urgent but still steady. “Some unfortunate events seemed to have made our king change his traveling plans.”

Robert sighed, his mind teetering on the threshold of complete despair as he thought of the king. “I found out that Richard’s journey from Acre to Corfu was uneventful, when he traveled disguised as a Knight Templar. On Corfu, Richard changed his disguise, and, dressed in the garb of a humble pilgrim, he boarded the pirate vessel that was soon wrecked near the island of Lacroma, near Aquileia. Then the king and the other members of the crew took another ship and traveled to Ragusa, where the king parted ways with the pirates; he rewarded them generously, and they glorified him for that.”

“Let me guess what happened further,” Robin spoke in a steady voice that was still edged with notes of fear and trepidation, which he was struggling to conceal. “After paying the pirates, he journeyed through Italy in a pilgrim’s disguise, escorted by his men and keeping rich garments, jewels, and money packed in their trunks on their horses.”

Archer’s brows shot up. “How do you know that, Robin?”

Robin smiled knowingly. “I can guess what our king will do in many situations,” he answered, sitting up straighter in his chair. “But at times, the king’s mind still seems unreadable even to me,” he added, his mind flitting back to the years when he had lived in the dark regarding his true relationship with Richard and when he had intercepted the king’s wistful glances at him.

“Robin knows King Richard very well after being at our liege’s side for many years,” de Longchamp stepped into the breach to aid Robin, looking at Robin kindly. He still remembered how young Richard, Edward of Knighton, and two more of Richard’s trusted knights had saved Robin from Bailiff Longthorn.

Robin nodded at de Longchamp gratefully and closed the topic, “Yes, I have known our king since my early youth.” He turned his head away, staring into the flames. “I am sure that King Richard took an inland route through the Holy Roman Empire. After the shipwreck, he had to travel avoiding France in order not to fall into the hands of King Philippe.”

“Don’t forget about Duke Leopold of Austria,” Carter amplified the list of the king’s enemies.

Robert released a sigh of vexation. “But our king is a fearless man: he decided that traveling through the territory of the Holy Roman Empire was less dangerous than through the French territory.” He rose to his feet and began pacing the room as nervousness overtook him. “I, too, took an inland route through central Europe, and I heard strange things there.”

“What did you hear?” Robin asked anxiously.

Robert stopped in the middle of the chamber, his eyes darting between Robin and de Longchamp. “During my journey, I stayed in remote villages, in small and isolated inns, like Richard himself would have done. I collected some information here and there, and then in one of the villages near Vienna, I heard rumors that a relatively young, handsome man, dressed as a pilgrim, but with impeccable manners, was seen in several taverns and inns in the southern German lands. That man spoke perfect Occitan and hummed something in Occitan under his breath.”

“It must be the king,” Carter asserted. “Everyone could have recognized Richard the Lionheart even in a peasant’s disguise. There is something in our king that betrays his kingship in any clothes.”

A long silence reigned in the room. It was clear that the man was King Richard. Richard spent most of his life in Aquitaine, where his court was a gathering place for musicians and troubadours, and he had a great love for music and poems written in Occitan, his other native tongue in addition to Norman-French. The lion himself composed many songs in Occitan and often hummed them quietly.

“There is no official information about Richard’s whereabouts,” Robert declared. “We only know that our liege was seen last somewhere near Vienna.”

Carter looked startled. “Was the king alone when he was seen in those inns?”

Robert shook his head. “He was together with only three other men.”

Robin twisted his fingers nervously as he tried to put his thoughts into words. Then he said bluntly, “André de Chauvigny was appointed the captain of the king’s private guard after my death. I am sure that André did everything to keep our king safe, but he is not God. If there were fewer men with the king in Vienna, then it means that they could have been attacked somewhere, and some of them were killed.” His heart collapsed in his chest; he was barely able to speak. “They could have escaped once or twice, but if they were surrounded and outnumbered, then I fear that the king was really taken prisoner.”

“But they won’t hurt or kill the King of England,” Archer said speedily.

“They didn’t hurt the king only if the royal party was attacked by the men of the Holy Roman Emperor or Duke Leopold of Austria,” Carter clarified, hesitant to continue.

“But if they were the Black Knights, then it was a different story, a very woeful story,” William de Longchamp voiced Carter’s fears.

“Exactly.” Robert’s voice was grave.

“However, it is unlikely that the Black Knights attacked the king in Italy or in Austria,” Robin opined with a veneer of grim satisfaction. “It looks like you, Robert, were right: I agree that our king was captured in the Holy Roman Empire.”

“Yes.” Robert gave a slight nod.

“If the king was abducted and kidnapped, ransom must be paid for him, or he should be released through diplomatic negotiations,” de Longchamp ventured to say. His chest heaved with frustration. “We cannot help him escape. If we do that, war with the emperor’s troops will unfold simultaneously with the ongoing France’s attacks in Normandy, and that will destroy the Angevin Empire.”

“In the first place, we should find the king,” Robert set the priority.

A dark shadow crossed Carter’s face. “But the news we have are not pleasant at all.”

“Everything is so uncertain,” Archer lamented.

“We will save the king,” Robin took an oath, his expression determined, and his eyes shifting into the cold clarity that only readiness for battle could bring. “We will save him,” he repeated, as if he needed to reassure himself. In a moment, his eyes were already overflowing with deep-rooted, implacable hatred for the Black Knights. “And Prince John and the Black Knights will pay for treason.”

A frown creased his forehead, and Robin stared sightlessly into the emptiness. Only the English Channel separated him from England and his mission to restore justice and topple Prince John and the Black Knights. Robin Hood was alive and was going to save King Richard, England, and the people again.

**The End**

* * *

**The third part of the long epic (trilogy) – “Quintessence of Life: Fight for Peace” – is the final part of the trilogy. Having been officially declared dead but having survived his grave wound, Robin returns to England only to discover that King Richard disappeared on the way from Acre. No longer enemies, Robin and Guy fight against Prince John and the Black Knights as brothers-in-arms, assisted by Archer and others.**  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Melisende reunited, and Robin confessed his love for her. He was brutally honest with her: he told her that part of his heart still belongs to Marian, and it is true that Robin still loves Marian. In fact, Robin is torn between Melisende and Marian – he loves both women in his own way, he loves each of them differently. There is a love triangle of Robin, Marian, and Melisende, and it will be resolved in the third part of the epic. What you need to know is that Robin will never betray Melisende: he is a married man and he has a son, and he is not a libertine who sleeps with women just for pleasure – he is a man who always tries to do the right thing, even if it hurts him.
> 
> One of Melisende's ladies-in-waiting turned out to be Prince John's spy, who wasn't very fond of Robin Hood. I needed this little twist to convey the important message to the readers – the old Robin Hood is dead (or almost dead), and the new Robin is a more ruthless and more pragmatic man, who is also more willing to kill the king's enemies. After his death, Robin became disillusioned and disenchanted with life, but in the next part of the epic "Fight for Peace" you will see that Robin didn't change entirely – it will happen when he will finally overcome his confusion.
> 
> In this chapter, you also saw the difference between Robin's two beloved women: Melisende belongs to royalty, and she is more ruthless, cunning, and at times even guileful, while Marian is in a different situation just because she wasn't born in a royal family. I don't think that it will be too spoilerish if I say that Marian and Melisende are going to have several very dramatic moments in "Fight for Peace" when they will have to face one other, each of them aware that Robin is torn between them.
> 
> In this chapter, I continued developing Guy's redemption arc, and I also tried to show the depths of Guy's repentance. Now he is a different man, who knows how bad he was and that his life was largely misspent. Megan and Guy have already become two comrades incarcerated within the walls of a living hell in the dungeons. Megan was unhinged and stills struggled to accept the fact of their impending death, while Guy accepted his death.
> 
> Guy was again tortured, this time by Rotherham, which created the unbridgeable animosity between the two. Don't worry – Guy will survive and will take his revenge against his enemies. Robin is on his way to England and he needs only to cross the English Channel, but the storm is an impediment, and the readers may understand that he will share up the things. For your info, the torture applied to Guy is called "Heretics Fork", and it was used by the Spanish inquisition in the Middle Ages.
> 
> As I wrote in author's notes to one of the chapters, there will be a drama between Marian, Megan, and Guy in "Fight for Peace." I pinpointed how Megan and Marian are different: Megan has a better understanding of human nature and a greater personal maturity, which Marian lacked. In the series, I often felt that Marian didn't understand the effects of holy war on Robin, although it is fair to say that Robin himself didn't admit her to his inner world due to his emotional reticence. Marian is a great character, but I think that she needs to do a bit of growing up. My Megan is wiser and more mature than BBC's Megan, and she is also more mature than Marian in some ways. I can give you a small insight: Marian is going to finally mature during the months of her separation from Robin and Guy.
> 
> I hope that my readers noticed Guy became less cynical and less selfish as he wants to save Megan's life, considering her an innocent victim of Prince John's ambitions to steal the crown and crafty political games. I promise that in the next part of the epic Guy will have his own moments of heroism, and he will deserve Robin's respect and in some moments even admiration. Guy will repay his debt to Robin for Robin's deathbed plea to grant Guy a royal pardon, but Robin and Guy won't become friends – they will be only allies. Please bear in your mind that Guy will never be as heroic and noble as Robin Hood, but he will become a better version of himself.
> 
> Robin learned that King Richard was taken prisoner somewhere in the Holy Roman Empire! The information about King Richard's adventures on the way back to Acre is historically correct.


	18. Author's Note

My dear readers,

 

"Quintessence of Life: Mysteries Unveiled", the second part of the trilogy, won't be updated anymore.

I hope you liked this novel/story and will give a try to the third part of the trilogy "Fight For Peace". I personally like "Fight for Peace", where Robin and Guy become allies and fight against Prince John and the Black Knights as brothers-in-arms, more than the two other parts. I hope to start posting "Fight for Peace" in January or February.

Thank you for attention. I wish you to have a good day. Your reviews are always appreciated.

 

Amaranthe Athénaïs


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